For Brooklyn 2
by AmbrLupin
Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. Sequel to For Brooklyn
1. Yes father

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter One: Yes father

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

**_I am such a softie. I was going to make everyone wait, but I couldn't. _**

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Someone ran in the house then, chest heaving. It was a girl a little younger than Jack, it looked like, with honey colored hair pulled back from her face. When Spot saw her he froze, the laughter dying from his face. "Caroline." He whispered.

Red stood ramrod straight, gazing at her in barely restrained anger. "Whaddya want? You've no business 'ere!"

"Matthew..." She hardly seemed to care about the angry looks she was receiving or the snapped sentence from the tall redhead. "Mom and Dad want you home. We're leavin' New York and yer comin with us."

It was completely silent in the room, and then Spot's hand fell and his cane slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with the sound of a gunshot, loud and echoing to the Brooklyn boy's ears. Never before had their leader's banner, the cane was their flag after all, hit the ground.

For if it ever did, it meant the fall of Brooklyn.

Red's anger flared and he stood in front of Spot, "Get outta 'ere! GO!" When the girl didnt move he took a threatening step forward, "Caroline, by god if you do NOT get away from me..."

Whether it was his voice or something in his eyes, the girl turned and ran, but not before snapping a, "Father expects you home tonight." The door slammed behind her like the sound of a cannon, loud and echoing.

Everyone was still, waiting with baited breath as Red turned, bending down softly to pick up the cane, holding it reverently in his hands. "Spot?" He murmurred, holding it out.

"Im not going back, Red." He murmured, acting as if they were the only ones in the room.

To his mind, they may very well have been.

"I know, kid." His eyes flashed emerald fire. "And I swear you're not going to."

Spot looked slightly shocked as his hand closed over the Brooklyn flag, just above his best friend's own. "Don't make promises you cant keep, Red."

"I swear it on Brooklyn, Spot. Im not letting them take you back there." He let go and Spot was left holding his cane, eyes widened slightly.

"Red, you cant mean dat..." To swear on one's land...was the greatest they knew.

"I do, and I will keep my word."

_"Your word is your greatest treasure, kid. Don't use it lightly, but don't use it sparingly either. A man is only as good as his word, remember that." _

This was the first time Red had ever sworn anything to him. And never, ever, on Brooklyn. He was serious, and when Red was serious...

He ended up getting himself hurt.

Which was why Spot snuck out of the safe-house that night.

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"THAT IDIOT!"

Jack jumped ten feet in the air, hitting his head on the top of the bunk in his haste to get up and see what the problem was. He expected a fire at least, green men from Mars perhaps, but not a frantic Red standing next to Spot's neatly made bed, a note clenched in his fist.

"Wha...?" David asked, head poking out from the top bunk, "Whats all...the racket...?"

"THAT IDIOT LEFT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREAKING NIGHT!"

"Which idiot?" Race moaned as he threw his pillow at Red, a feeble blow that the latter easily blocked.

"SPOT!"

"Why couldn't it have been you?" He muttered, pulling the blanket back up over his head. "Someone up there hates me, I swear."

"What do you mean Spot's gone?" David jumped down from the top, landing on his feet and taking the note from the other, scanning the hurried letter quickly. It was simple.

'I've gone back, Red. Please forgive me, but I couldn't stand it if you got hurt again for my sake. Signed, Spot.' The dark haired newsie's head snapped up, "Red...What are you going to do...?"

"What do ya think?" He began to pull on some pants, throwing a shirt over his shoulders, "Im going to go get him back."

Even Race sat up then. "You just got over being SHOT!"

"Your point, Race, being what?"

"That you have recently been SHOT!"

Rolling his eyes, Red moved toward the door. It was still dark out, Spot couldn't have left that long ago. "Wait." Jack rolled out of bed, "Im going with you."

"Me too." David pulled on his boots.

Race moaned as he swung his legs over the side, "Yeah, im comin too."

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Jake Conlon stood at the window, his sharp beady eyes looking far out across the dark street. He knew the kid was coming, there was no way he was going to disrespect him now, he wouldn't challenge a direct order.

He had taught Matthew that at an early age.

You always respected your elders.

He could remember it well enough, the day his son had left. A tall red headed kid had walked right in the house as if he owned it, told him that he was taking Matthew away, and that had been it. Jake hadn't been worried in the slightest. He knew Matthew would return, and sure enough, there he was now, standing in the doorway.

A smirk touched his lip, "Welcome home, Matthew. I hope you're ready for your punishment?"

Spot let out a soft breath, "Yes father." He walked in the house and stood in front of his father obediently. His head flew to the side with the first blow and he had to fight down the urge to not fight back.

He had learned that fighting back only made the punishment hurt more.

He had also learned that after the first ten blows it no longer mattered, his father would lose control or he wouldn't. It all depended on how much alcohol he had consumed or how angry he was. The way it was going...

Spot would be lucky if he could walk tomorrow.

A slight whimper slid from his lips as his father tore his belt off of his pants, doubling it up in his fist. "Boy, you know what to do."

"Yes father." Spot murmurred, turning his back and letting his shirt fall. He bit his lip and hoped he was stronger than last time. He didnt want to give him the satisfaction of a scream.

When the first slinging welt raised on his back, in-between his shoulder blades, Spot ducked his head, teeth clamping down so hard he tasted blood. His skin was still tender from the fall from the warehouse, and now...It felt like he was on fire.

After five, he started to plead.

At ten, he begged.

At twenty, he just screamed.

It stopped at thirty, leaving Spot a trembling, huddled mass on the floor. His legs had given out somewhere between twenty and twenty five, so the last five had been extra hard, tearing his skin so bad blood was staining his shirt.

"Pitiful." Jake snapped, "You're pitiful, you know that?"

"Yes father."

He snorted, throwing the belt in the corner of the room. "Go spend the night with those orphans you call family and tomorrow be here bright and early, you hear me?"

Spot ducked his head, "Yes father."

"Get out of my sight."

"Yes father."

Spot ran until he couldn't run anymore and he stumbled up against a building, his legs buckling so that he slid down to his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick. Just being in that man's presence made him nauseous.

_"Those orphans you call family."_

"I wish they were." He whispered, laying his head against the wet stone of the home he was leaning against. It had started to rain while he had been receiving his punishment and now the rain water was dripping onto the welts, making him hiss in pain and squeeze his eyes shut.

"I wish they were my family...Anything is better than you..."

"We are your family, Spot." Arms wrapped around him gently, comforting.

Why wasn't the youth surprised? He leaned back against Red, head burrowed against his wet shirt."Im sorry, im so sorry, Red. Forgive me, please forgive me."

"Shh, Spot..." He murmurred, "There's nothing to forgive."

Jack and David stood off to the side, rain dripping down their faces. They had seen this before, but Race, who was slightly behind them, had not. His eyes were wide as he looked at Spot, the broken Spot kept locked deep inside, never shown to the world.

For the world wouldn't understand.

Deep red welts showed clear on his back, skin torn in some places where the belt buckle had snagged and ripped. He looked so small as Red picked him up, so tiny and fragile, but at the same time, his eyes were still that fire burning silver blue, clear as ever, and looking straight at him. A shiver ran down his back just as Spot turned his face against Red, eyes hidden.

Race got a new understanding of the word 'Leader' that day.

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Okay- me thinks this one needs an updating schedule...

Two updates a week work for you guys? Lets say..Tues. and Thurs.?


	2. Keep it hidden

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Two: Keep it hidden

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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When the silent group got back to the safe-house, Spot was already asleep in Red's arms, looking no more than twelve, when in reality he was almost seventeen. His head was burrowed in the white shirt Red had thrown on, his hair sticking stubbornly to his forehead, drops of rainwater beaded on his cheek.

With one arm hooked under Spot's legs, the other curling about his shoulder to keep him steady, Red wasn't having much luck with the lock. Jack and David were a little behind, making sure they weren't being followed, so he tried to lean all of the other's weight on one arm.

That didnt work all too well.

"I got it." A voice spoke and Race came around him, quickly opening the door and moving in instantly, making way for the taller newsie. "I...Guess I'll see ya in the morning."

He had almost made it too, but...

"Race?" Red's eyes were sharp as he pinned the younger boy were he stood, those emerald depths drawing him in, drowning him, he was suffocating, he was dying...he was...

Jack and David exchanged swift, alarmed glances as they came in the door. Jack's shoulders were tense, ready to jump in the middle if the need arose, but there would be no need for such a thing.

Red smiled, his face lighting up, "Thank you."

It took Race all of a minute to realize he hadn't just been referring to the door.

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_Spot sat on the edge of his bed, crying into his pillow so his father wouldn't hear him. Men weren't supposed to cry, they weren't to show any weakness at any time. If he did, he would just get punished again. _

_He couldn't handle another whipping. _

_He just couldn't. _

_Mother just looked away, Caroline had stood up for him once...But his father had just called in some other men to help punish her. Spot had heard her screams behind the closed door and could only hide in a corner, hands over his ears. _

_She hadn't raised her voice for him again after that._

_"Help me..." He whispered into the wet fabric, "Help me..."_

_"Someone help-"_

"-me..."

"Spot!"

"Kid, are you okay?"

Spot's eyes opened and he struggled to sit up. For once he would like to wake up and be able to get up using his own power. Of course that day wasn't today. Hands helped him up, and he didn't need to turn around to see who it was.

"How long have I been out?" He asked Jack, who was the one sitting in his view.

"Two days." Cowboy answered, already halfway to his feet, "Do you need something, I can go get it."

"No..." He frowned, "How much sleep has Red gotten?"

"Hey-" Red protested from behind him.

"Shush." Spot cut him off, "How much, Jackie boy?"

"None."

Without missing a beat, Spot turned and whacked Red with his cane, which was conveniently right by his hand. "WHAT did I tell you!"

"OWWW!" He complained, leaping backwards and out of reach, "I was worried, ya idiot!" He rubbed his head with a pained look as the Manhattan leader tried not to laugh.

"I told ya the FIRST time this happened that I would leave if you ever pulled an all nighter like this again!"

Red's eyes flashed, "You already DID leave!"

Spot opened his mouth and then promptly shut it, eyes losing their fighting spark as he let his cane fall back to the bed. "I..."

"Look, kid." Red sighed as he placed a hand on the other's shoulder. Jack was apparently being ignored, so he just snuck out the door, closing it behind him to give the two some privacy.

"I know the risks, I've done this before, remember?"

Spot remembered all right.

_He was collapsed on the floor, arms scrabbling at the wood as he tried to get away. His father brought the heel of his boot down hard in the middle of the child's mutilated back, smirking as a scream was torn from his throat. _

_"Someone...someone help me...!" _

_Jake's smirk faded and he brought his foot down again. "Who da ya think would want you? Who do you think would help you!" _

_"Me." A punch to his jaw from the side and a kick in his stomach sent the father flying, smashing into a table and reducing it to matchsticks. "I want him."_

_Spot raised his eyes. His prayer, the one he chanted every waking second...It had been answered. He had asked for an angel, for a friend, for someone who would want him. _

_He got Red. _

_He was no angel, that much was certain as he stood in the room looking more like a lord of Hell than anything. He leaned down and picked the kid up, holding him easily. He was a friend, and as for someone who would want him..._

_He would just have to wait and see. _

Spot felt a smile drift across his face unbidden and he couldn't help but chuckle. "Ya know, Red, when you came and saved me...At first I thought you were an angel."

The other blinked, "An angel?"

"Yeah...and then I looked again and realized you were no angel. Just a demon."

Red threw back his head and howled, "Ooh boy, aren't you just asking for it today, my little hellion?"

Spot paused, eyes widening. "You haven't called me that in a long time, Red."

The co-leader shrugged as he got to his feet, "Doesn't change the fact that its true." Smiling a little he ran a hand through his hair, "Think bout that for a little, kid. Im gonna go get something to eat. Ill bring some up."

Spot just nodded, his hand going automatically toward his neck. By habit, however, he waited until Red had left the room and the door was shut solidly behind him before his fingers pulled a glittering key from under his shirt, staring as it glittered in his palm.

He had taken good care of it, ever since Red had given it to him years ago, when Queens had first tried to take control of Brooklyn. Back when he was in training, with no clue he would soon rule over it all.

_"Red...?" Spot looked concerned as he was drawn aside from their cheering comrades. "Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Did I do something wrong? Im sorry, I didnt mean to assume-"_

_Red held up his hand, stopping the onslaught of apologies. "Naw, kid, ya did good." His chin raised a little, eyes glinting. "Ya did really good, in fact. Which is why..."_

_The younger blinked in confusion as he felt the other slip something around his neck. Looking down he caught the sight of something silver and his breath caught in his throat. "Red...This is yours..." _

_It was the key. The key he had first seen around Red's neck, the key everyone seemed to try and steal, the key every newsie in the surrounding cities wanted. Except for Spot. He didnt want it, didnt even know what it represented. _

_"It might have been mine once, long ago." He leaned forward and tipped the child's head up with his finger. "But not now. Its yours, Spot Conlon. Wear it well and keep it hidden until its time to show it."_

_"When is the time?" He was so trusting back then, so naive, even after all he had been through so early in life. "Is it soon?"_

_"You'll know when." He ruffled his hair with a laugh. "Remember what I told you, tell no one you have that, not a soul. Treasure it, but in secret."_

_Spot nodded, he got it already. "What does it go to?" _

_Red paused, "You'll know that one day too. Don't ask me again." _

Spot had, but that was a few years later, and a memory to recall another time as someone opened the door. He stowed the key back under his shirt even though there was no need to do it now. Everyone knew he owned it, but old habits die hard.

"Hey." Race greeted as he came in with a plate of food and a tray. "How ya feelin?"

The leader frowned, "I thought Red was getting me something to eat."

"Well yeah." The gambler set the tray up and set the food down. "But that was before he passed out in the kitchen."

Spot sprung to attention instantly, "What? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, nuttin to worry bout." He waved it away as he moved the food closer. "Just sleep derived, and you know he hasn't been eatin too well."

"No, I didnt know that." Spot was ignoring the food, even though his stomach was trying to eat itself. "Why hasn't he been eating?"

"Well..."Racetrack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "The fight with Queens kinda put a halt in our sales, ya know? We don't...we don't have enough money to feed everyone, so Red and some of the others have been giving their share away."

At this, the leader of Brooklyn ran his friend over with more scrutinizing eyes. "You have too, haven't you, Race?"

"Naw, naw, just thought it was time I got on a diet, thats all."

A diet? The guy was skin and bones as it were! The last thing he needed was a diet! Apparently Race realized Spot had caught him and he spun on his heel. "I'm glad you're all right, Spot. But I have to go help the others-"

"Race."

The dark haired newsie turned to look back over his shoulder and came face to face with Spot, who shouldn't have been standing, much less walking. But he was, and in his hand he held his roll. "Here."

"No." He backed up, hands coming out to ward him off, "No, Spot, thats yours. Your injured and im not, I can handle being without food for a day. You eat it."

"Its been more than a 'day' Race." He snapped, "Eat the darn roll or ill shove it down your throat!"

Race ate the roll.

Satisfied, Spot turned back to his bed, nearly falling on his face except for the arm that wrapped around his stomach. "Thought you'd do that." Race smirked as he led him to the bed and set him in it. "Now, your highness, I have to get going. Try not to do something that would have Red eat me, all right?"

Spot chuckled as he watched the Manhattan newsie leave. Race was all right, once you got to know him and stopped playing poker or craps against him. You almost always lost, or so the leader had learned firsthand. He picked up the spoon to eat some of the stew and froze.

More than three-fourths of the roll was sitting on his plate. Cursing at the closed door he rubbed at his eyes. He had forgotten Race was Race. Slight of hand was one of his many and far reaching talents.

"Ill get you one of these days, Higgins!" He called.

"Doubtful!" Came the laughed reply.

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I really like this one. The interaction between Race and Spot -grin-

anyways- now- REVIEW! Muwahaha!

And I except reviews that are not signed in- so there is no excuse... besides you just hating my writing and hating me...


	3. But I keep pushing them away

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Three: But I keep pushing them away

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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"Red!" Someone was shaking him, pulling him off the mattress and onto the cold stone floor. "Red! Wake up!"

"WHA!" He yelped, jumping up and blinking blearily at David, "Whaddya want? I was sleepin!"

"Spot is gone!" He cried hurriedly. "Him and Race!"

"Wakin me up for- WHAT!"

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"Extra! Extra!"

"Hey, Spot? Ya sure this is a good idea and all? I mean, you didn't tell Red where we were going, wont he be worried?" Race asked, wiping sweat off his brow with his sleeve.

"It'll be good for him." The leader commented, leaning heavily on his cane. "Plus, he told you to watch me, right? You're watchin me."

Race shook his head, laughing. "Ya know, for such a big shot, you cant sell papes worth nuttin." His own stack was half gone, while the other still had most of his hanging from one arm.

"This aint my territory." He muttered, "I cant sell in Manhattan, its throwin me off."

"What? Do you have all of Brooklyn afraid of you?"

It was a joke, really it was.

"Yeah, I do." His eyes were shards of ice, piercing and cold. "Got a problem with that, Racetrack Higgins?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat he shook his head quickly, "N-no, Spot... No, no problem here. I get it, I do. I swear!"

Spot raised an eyebrow at him and then threw back his head to howl in laughter. "Oi, I was just joking, Race. So, why don't you teach this Brooky how to sell papes on this side of the bridge, eh? Im hopelessly lost 'ere."

Race laughed as he threw his arm around the other's shoulder, "Yeah, man. Come on, ill teach ya." They walked off the sidewalk and onto the street, just as a dark clothed figure walked past them, eyes seeming to stare at their every move.

Spot stiffened, every cell in his body screaming at him to run away. His grip tight on his cane he spun, looking, searching for the threat he felt even now. But there wasn't anyone there.

Hidden by the shadows of the building, Jake Conlon watched. And learned..

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Ace raised his hand and knocked a few times on the door to the Manhattan safe-house. A few of his men were behind him, travel companions really. He had left his co-leader Munch in charge, the kid could take it. He had wanted to come see how Spot was doing. He expected comatose, maybe denial when they opened the door.

He hadn't expected a dead guy.

"AHHHH!" He screamed, leaping back, nearly falling on his butt. "RED!"

Red blinked at the Bronx leader, eyebrow shooting to his hairline. "Well, yes, that is my name...But I don't think I've ever gotten a hello like that before."

"YOU'RE DEAD!"

"I most certainly am NOT!" He snorted, slight anger changing to amusement as the other moved forward a little, as if he were approaching a skittish horse.

And then he just reached out and poked him in the ribs.

"What are you doing?"

"Im poking a ghost." Ace replied calmly, "But im trying to figure out why it is im not going through you."

"IM NOT A GHOST!"

"AHH!" Ace was behind a nearby crate in seconds, cowering, "Don't hurt me, Ghost-Red, I swear I didnt mean anything by it! I swear!"

Red could only stare at him, wondering how the heck he had survived on the streets of the Bronx. "Look, im not a-"

"BACK AWAY!" Ace held his fingers in a cross like style, "BACK GHOST OF RED! BACK!"

"Ace, im not-"

"Got any salt?" He asked the guy next to him in a hurried whisper, trying to keep an eye on Red while he talked. "Salt works on ghost's right?"

"IM NOT A-"

He got salt thrown in his face.

"What the heck is going on here?" Mush asked, sticking his head out the door, a frown on his face. "Yo Ace, long time no see! But...what are you doing throwing salt on Red?"

"HE THINKS IM A GHOST!" Red exploded, wiping the crystals off his face and clothes.

"You're not...?" Ace blinked at him. "Well why didn't ya just say so?"

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"Race..." Spot said slowly, eyes riveted on the ground in front of him.

Racetrack looked up at him with a smile. "Yes?"

"If you get another full house im going to soak you."

His partner just laughed, "What are you saying, that im cheating?"

Spot just glared at him. "Four full houses in the past ten minutes? Yeah, I think you're cheatin." Why did he even agree to the stupid idea of playing poker? Well, because it was something to do, and...well...

It got his mind off the lurking suspicions that told him something wasn't quite right.

Sweeping the cards into his hand he shrugged. "I wasn't cheating...just improving my odds." He said it so innocently too, as if what he was doing was perfectly legal.

Spot shook his head with a chuckle, "Okay, whateva." He looked up and frowned, "Its gettin late, maybe you should head on home."

The good mood evaporated just like that. "Where are you going?" Race asked, his voice dropping down a few notes.

"Its not of your business." He used his cane to pull himself to his feet. He hadn't felt this weak in a long time, and it showed. He was irritated, snapped more, and was more prone to doing stupid things.

"Oh, I think it is my business, Spot."

Spot didn't even know he had moved until he was standing over the other newsie, fists clenched, the knuckles on his right hand split slightly. Race stared up at him in shock, his hand moving to his jaw, some of his teeth loosened by the blow.

"Its not your business what I do or don't do." Spot fought to keep his self-loathing out of his voice. How could he HIT him when all Race had been doing was being a concerned friend!

"What, do you think I care about you or sometin? Do you think that gives you the right to tell me what is or is not your business?" His voice was cold, hard, unfeeling. "Well wake up, Race! I don't care, you hear me? I DON'T CARE!" He squeezed his eyes shut as he yelled this last, and when he opened them again...

Race was gone.

Spot could have went after him, he almost did, but stopped himself at the last moment. He had done what was needed, no more and no less. He couldn't afford to have friends, not now. He wouldn't be able to live with the pain of losing them, when he left. Yes, it hurt to force those words from his mouth, but he had to do it. For Race's sake.

"_Who da ya think would want you? Who do you think would help you!" _

Spot's eyes closed wearily as he began the slow and agonizing walk to, not the Manhattan safe-house, but to his own. It was time he went home to Brooklyn, at least to say good-bye.

"You're wrong, father. There are people who want me...who would help me..."

'_But I keep pushing them away.'_

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Jake Conlon slipped back into his house, walking carefully to pull a leather bound book from its place on the shelf. Flipping to a page he sat down and pulled out a pen, scrolling to the end of the list he had made, writing down one name.

'_Racetrack Higgins' _

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i loved this chapter. it was a good one, well writtn! -grin-  
so read and review! thanks!


	4. Mine as well

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Four: Mine as well

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Spot couldn't believe it.

His home...His life...

Queens had destroyed it.

He stood on the docks that led to the Brooklyn safe-house and could feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks. It was in ruins. The roof was smashed in, the fine framework he had helped put up smashed beyond recognition. Everywhere he looked there was destruction.

How could someone do this?

On silent and shaking feet he walked over the dock, his cane the only sound around as it tapped lightly with each step. Moving over the loose board on pure instinct, he paused and looked down, the water glinting merrily at him.

_"What is this place, Red?" _

_"Your new home, kid...If ya want it." _

He bowed his head, choking back a sob. He had wanted, oh, had he wanted it! A place to call his own, a family who would love him. That was all he had ever really wanted, not to be leader, not to own Brooklyn, not to even do something with his life.

He had just wanted to be loved.

He ran a finger along a board and sighed. So much laughter, so many tears. It was all captured here, within these boundaries, a place where anyone could come and be wanted, leaving their old life behind If they so chose too.

Something glittered just too his right and he bent down to pick it up, wiping the mud off of it. A crimson marble, just the perfect size. He sniffed, looking around for something he could...

By pure luck, a single glass bottle sat on a broken beam, teetering on the edge.

_"Hey, Red? Can I ask you something?" _

_He turned slightly, "Yeah. What is it?" _

_Spot held out his palm, "Is this a good shooter?" _

_Red appraised the red toy with a raised eyebrow, "That's real good, kid. This will fly true all right." He rolled it over, grinning at its flawless surface. "Where did you get this?" _

_"Oh, I found it on the street." He smiled, slipping it into his pocket. _

Finger's tightening, he pulled his slingshot with one hand, aiming carefully.

SHATTER.

His marble went clear through, hitting the back wall and sliding down to land back by his feet. He laughed, throwing it in the air so he could catch it again, a rare and contented smile on his face. He couldn't stay angry in this place, it was too magical, in a way, too full of hopes and dreams.

Even shattered like this.

_"Spot? Do you...Do you know what Brooklyn is?" _

_Spot blinked up at him, an eyebrow arched in confusion. "A city...?" _

_Laughing, he looked out over the midnight colored water. "Yeah, it's a city, but its more than that too. Its...A place of change, a place that never stays the same." _

_"But that describes everything!" _

_Red grinned at him, a mysterious smile on his face, "Yeah, it does." _

Spot hadn't realized what he had said then, but now, after everything that had happened, he did. Red had meant you could change, no matter who you were or where you were, you had the ability to change, to be something other than what you were brought up to be.

"Sometimes, Red, you gave the greatest advice." He chuckled up at the sky, "But I doubt you even realized you were doin' it."

_"Who da ya think would want you? Who do you think would help you!" _

Brooklyn would. Manhattan would. Bronx would.

The answers came unbidden, but that didnt change the fact they were there and they were true. He hadn't meant to, had tried his utmost NOT to, but he found himself knee deep in friends and sinking fast, without a hand-hold to pull himself out.

Not that he really wanted to.

But still, look how he was treating them! You think they'd get the hint, but NO! They had to crowd him, even though he tried to send them signs, signals, telling him to leave him be, not to talk to him, not to be seen. They didnt get it, and look what he had to do.

He had hurt perhaps the only other person, besides Red, who would never have judged him. He had hurt Race, and it was all because he didn't want to see the young newsie broken like he was. He didn't want to see him dying, torn apart by cruelty.

_"What, do you think I care about you or sometin? Do you think that gives you the right to tell me what is or is not your business? Well wake up, Race! I don't care, you hear me? I DON'T CARE!" _

Dear lord, they were almost the same words he had said to Red not long before, forcing Brooklyn and Manhattan into a war neither of them could afford. It felt like so long ago, a lifetime, words he wished he had never said to the only father he had ever had.

_" You know! Whaddya think you KNOW! YOU DON'T KNOW ME! STOP TRYIN' TA MAKE FRIENDS WIT ME! I DON'T NEED YA!" _

Was his life nothing but one large circle? One road that all led to the same place, going round and round, pressure pulling it until it either yielded or snapped under the pressure. The only question was, which would Spot do?

Yield...or snap...?

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"I see." Ace bit the edge of his lip as he sat back in the chair, "And you don't know where he is now?"

Jack looked over his shoulder to where Race was curled up under the blanket, back to the other newsies. "Race knows."

"Then why not ask him?" The Bronx leader asked with a raised eyebrow. "It'll solve all this real fast, no?"

"He doesn't want to talk about it." David explained softly, "And I don't think its right to demand the information...Its not polite."

"Forget polite!" Ace muttered, getting to his feet. Despite Jack and David's obvious attempts at getting him to stop, he just sat on the edge of the bed lightly and waited.

He didn't wait long.

"Go away." Race snarled, "I don't want to talk, leave me be."

"No, I wont go away."

Race's answer to that was to roll off the other side of the bunk, grab his pillow and blanket, and walk out the door, everyone's eyes watching him in confusion.

"Where is he going?" Ace asked in surprise, looking around the room.

No one had an answer for him.

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_A child with chocolate colored hair and matching eyes slammed backwards into the corral that housed the horses, cracking his scull on the lock. Moaning in agony he staggered forward a little even as three full grown men came around the corner, knives glinting in their hands. _

_"There he is!" One of them cried, rushing forward. "Get him!" _

_Gasping his hand gripped hard over his gold pocket-watch, he slipped into the corral, hoping to slide out the other side before they could catch him. They couldn't have the watch, it was the only thing he had from his past. _

_The only link he had to what he couldn't remember. _

Throwing his pillow up onto the roof, Race tied his blanket around his waist and jumped up to grab a hold of the gutter, pulling himself up. Tucking his pillow under his arm he climbed to the center of the roof and sat down, blanket thrown over his shoulder's cape style. It was cold now that the sun was down.

Absently he rubbed his upper arm, remembering the cold sting of the blade as it cut through his skin, showing him blood for the first time. His own blood. He had been seven at the time, with no memory of his past except for a pocket-watch, no place to live off of then the Sheepshead track, where he had found himself one morning.

_Screaming the child fell backwards, clutching at his arm. It hurt, it hurt so bad! Alarmed by his scream, the horses panicked, running to the other end of the corral, clearing the area between him and his attackers, giving them easier access to the boy who was scrambling to get away. _

_All the horses, save one. It was a stallion, in the prime of his life, with a glorious chestnut coat with a slightly darker mane and tail. A white star blazed on his forehead, eyes full of fire and fury as he rushed the men, whinnying so loud it was like a thunderclap. _

_Terrified, he scampered backwards, trying to mold with the wood that made up one side of the corral. The men were running, through the gate, slamming it behind them with a clang, thinking the kid was as good as dead in there alone. _

_They couldn't have been more wrong. _

_The stallion came over to him, gently sniffing him before nudging his shoulder slightly with his nose. He almost seemed to be asking if he was okay. It was all that time the stable hands came running in, with them the owner of the track, A Mr. Arthur Higgins. _

_"What are you doing in there?" He snapped, before noticing the blood that stained the boys clothing. His anger dying, he helped him to the infirmary, sitting him down so he could look at the cut. _

_"What's your name, son?" _

_When the other didn't answer, the man turned his head slightly. Whether it was something he saw or something he guessed, Higgins didnt ask again, just smiled at him. _

_"Well, you need a name if you're going to stay here." He grinned a little, "How about Racetrack? Race for short." _

_"R-Race...?" He whispered. He had a name? _

_"Yeah, after my horse that saved you. His name is Race too. I hope you don't think that's stupid or anything..." _

_The child couldn't have been more thrilled. _

Race looked down at his hands and then out across the city. "Ya see, Spot? I know what you're going through right know. I might not know everything, but I know enough to recognize that look in your eyes...Because it was in mine as well."

The look of a boy who had lost everything and found himself on the verge of losing the one last thing that was his to keep.

Himself.

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I really, really liked this chapter -grin-

personally, my take on Race's past is uber original, and I love it!

Now review foah me!


	5. Yes, Brother My Brother

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Five: Yes, Brother. My Brother.

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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The newsboys woke at dawn, a few of them blinking sleep from their eyes and wondering what had woken them. Jack moved closer to the window and shushed them all. When all was so silent you could hear a pin drop, they heard it.

Soft singing. Soft, heartbroken singing.

Frowning, Jack stuck his head out of the window and looked up, eyes widening. '_What...did he stay out there all night...?'_

Race sat on the roof, legs curled to his chest, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. His head was thrown back as he sang, unaware that he had an audience, unaware he was letting all his secrets, his hopes, his dreams, and his fears be known.

The light from the rising sun cast shadows across his face, giving him the appearance of someone far older than just eighteen. There was maturity in that visage, a weariness that one only got when they had reached the end of their rope and could go no further. He had seen that look before.

In Spot Conlon.

The two boys were at their snapping point, the do it or die. If they failed, turned the wrong way, if a single step was taken wrong...it was over for them. They would fall, all the way back down to the bottom. And there they would stay, for neither had the strength to pull themselves back up.

Not on their own anyway.

Pulling his head back in the window, Jack shook his head. "Go back to sleep." He told the others, but he knew that would be near to impossible.

Not with a lost soul singing his heart out right above their heads. A ballad of forgotten hope, forgotten dreams, lost love, and something that was hidden to all but those who knew how to look. At that note Red sat up in his bed, heart thumping.

Race was saying good-bye.

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Race got to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the roof top. The wind ruffled his bangs and he took a step toward the edge, feeling the cool air rush over him. If he jumped, would he fly? Or would he plummet toward the earth?

Only one way to find out.

Closing his eyes, Race took that last precarious step, the roof vanishing from under him as he fell. This was all right, this was fine. It was better this way. He wouldn't hurt anyone...or be hurt. He wouldn't bother any one or be bothered. This was it, the end of the rope, the end of it all.

He waited for the bone crushing impact, the flash of pain and then the nothingness that would come with death. Would he end up in Hell? Probably. Heaven wouldn't want him.

No one wanted him.

Race tipped his head back and opened his arms. He briefly wondered if you really did see a white tunnel at the end, but someone caught him before he could find out.

He crashed into a chest, knocking whoever it was on their back, hard. Fingers dug into his arms and he blinked down at who had saved him from his suicidal jump. He sucked in a shocked gasp.

"Coward." Spot hissed.

"S-Spot..." He gulped, "I thought you...what are you doing here...?"

Spot pushed him off and sat up, "You're nothing but a coward!" He snapped, each word digging hard into the other newsie. "Death solves NOTHING."

"But..." He looked down at his shaking hands. "But I...don't want to stay here...anymore..."

Spot looked at him in surprise, recognizing his own thoughts and feelings. He had to fight down a shiver. If that had been him up there, would he have jumped too? If he had a way to die, would he have taken it?

He didnt have an answer, and that was what scared him.

"Race...forgive me."

The elder's eyes snapped up. The leader of Brooklyn was apologizing...to him! "What...for...?" He whispered, still sitting on the concrete. His legs wouldn't move, wouldn't support him.

He knew what for.

Spot opened his mouth to answer, but Red burst out of the safe-house then, panting. He fell to his knees in front of them, relieved beyond words to find an alive Racetrack instead of a splattered one.

"Red...?" The leader asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder, "Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah." He licked his dry and cracked lips, looking up to stare at the Manhattan newsie. "Don't...scare me like that, Race..."

The other only nodded silently, his eyes, and thoughts, far away.

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The two adventurers ended up sleeping in, while the rest of the newsies got dressed and headed out for work. In no time it was just the two of them, Spot in the Brooklyn room, lazily staring at the ceiling.

Race was...

Spot's ears caught something and he rolled off the bed, feet padding silently to the adjoining door. Race was...crying.

The youth couldn't believe what he had almost done. He lay shaking in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin, eyes closed as tears leaked behind them. He had almost killed himself, had nearly succeeded too! If Spot hadn't been there to catch him, he wouldn't be alive.

He would be dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead...Dead...

Trembling, he tried to take a sip of the hot tea Mush had made for him, but his shaking fingers wouldn't grip the mug and it started to slide from his hand.

Whimpering he dug his nails in, halting it only slightly. "No..." He moaned as it nearly left his grasp completely. "No..."

A pair of hands wrapped around his, securing them to the cup, raising it to his lips. He took a sip and sighed softly, eyes opening to see who it was at his side, although he already knew.

Spot sat lightly on the edge of the bed, his hair falling over haunted eyes. "I know the feeling, my brother." He whispered, rolling up his sleeves and flashing the pink scars he bore from his own suicide attempts.

Race stared at him, but it wasn't because of the scars, he had seen them many times since it had happened. He had helped bandage them after all. No...it was because of what he had said, what that annoying leader of Brooklyn had said.

"Brother?"He murmurred, not understanding. He couldn't have heard him right, could he? Why would the great Spot Conlon call him 'Brother?'

The look in the other's eyes told him he had, indeed, been hearing correctly. "Yes, brother. MY brother." He reached out and tenderly pulled the blanket up a little more. "Get some sleep, Race. You'll feel better when you wake up. Trust me."

Race did trust him, and as he fell into a deep sleep, he felt Spot squeeze his hand

gently. "Ill keep the nightmares away."

He did that too; Spot did.

His brother.

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odd...chapter...wasn't it? -smirk-

review, come on...ya know you want tooo...

And hey- this chapter was on time! Booyah!


	6. You wouldn’t want that

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Six: You wouldn't want that.

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Spot had been right.

When Race woke back up, he certainly felt better, at least well enough to stuff his face with whatever he could get his hands on. He felt like a fool, a glutton, like he was taking advantage of everyone.

Hadn't he just told Spot they didn't have enough to feed everyone?

Pausing, he looked down at his still nearly full plate and a hardness came to his eyes. Stumbling to his feet he made his way out of the door, and nearly fell over the form that had been leaning against the doorframe.

Raising an eyebrow, Race set the plate down on the ground as he gently swung one of Spot's arms over his shoulder, supporting his weight as he managed, somehow, to get the out-cold youth into the bed and under the blanket.

Shutting the door behind him, he picked the plate back up and went off in search of one of the children in the Manhattan safe-house. He couldn't eat their food. It just wasn't right, especially when they were still growing.

Speaking of still growing... Race turned on his heel, wrapping the freshly baked roll in a

small, and clean piece of fabric. Tip-toeing back into the room, he laid it on the table next to the bed. Spot needed it more than he did anyway.

Reaching over he pulled the cover's up to the other's chin, knowing how much he moved in his sleep. Smiling softly, he brushed a piece of hair from the other's face. "Sleep well, my brother."

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Red leapt over the stairs, landing on the bottom floor of the Manhattan safe-house and throwing his arms around a rather startled Jack, who looked at him with wide eyes even as he pushed him off.

"What the heck are you doing?"

The elder laughed, "Im being friendly! Cant I be friendly?"

And then he giggled.

His eyebrow shooting up to his hairline, Cowboy turned on his heel, "ACE! WHAT DID YOU PUT IN HIS DRINK THIS MORNING?"

There was a chuckle from behind him as the Bronx leader came in the front door. "Oh, nothing that wont wear off in a little while. Payback, you know."

Yes, Jack did know.

Rolling his eyes, the Manhattan boy tried to keep Red from charging out the front door and getting run over by...something. What a good time for Spot to be unconscious, no? He would have been able to handle the odd-acting Red, but no one else. Except maybe Race.

"Oi, ya seen Race?"

Ace shook his head, as he took a glass from Red, lest he smash it against something. "Naw, not since he came down a few hours ago to gamble away his food. By the way, wouldn't it have been easier to just GIVE it away?"

Jack grinned and shook his head, "Not for him. Plus...I think it was a way for him to feel like himself again, you know? He needed that, I think."

"Yeah." Ace agreed softly, bowing his head a little. "Yeah...I think he did too."

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_"Come here, boy." Jake snapped the belt in his hand, the black leather glinting in the light."You're late." _

_His head bowed, Spot stepped inside, walking slowly to where his father waited. Its not like he wasn't expecting this, after all he had disobeyed. It was only natural to get punished for his actions. _

_But his heart was heavy. He felt like he was betraying them, his friends who had tried so hard to save him, tried so hard to keep his head just above the water that threatened to drown him. _

_Race's face flew through his mind, and he could almost hear him saying, "You can do this, cant you? You cant let him do this to you anymore. You have a chance, here and now, to end it all. You can do this, we're with you."_

_His feet stopped on their own accord, glued to the floor under his feet. His hands balled themselves into fists, and before he even knew he had opened his mouth, he had murmurred a soft, "No."_

_The vein in the man's neck seemed to pulse, "What was dat?" _

_Courage, keep courage. He wasn't going to yield, not to him. He might snap, but he would never yield. The leader of Brooklyn would never yield...never again. _

_"I said no." His voice was strong, his shoulders squared, stance proud. "No, no, a thousand times no." _

_Jake Conlon's eyes flashed, "Are you-"_

_"Disobeying you?" His lips turned up into a sneer as he spun on his heel, "Yes, I am." _

_"You cant do that! I am your father!" _

_Spot stopped at the door, his hand braced lightly on the side as he turned to look once more at the seething man. "No. I have only one father, and his name is Red." _

_He made sure to slam the door as hard as he possibly could as he left. _

_Spot felt pretty good when he walked back to the safe-house. He had stood up to him, he had stood up to his father! And man, did it feel good! He held his head high as he came in the door, all ready to party with his friends. _

_The minute he stepped in the room, however, he knew something was wrong. Someone...was missing..._

_"Where's Race?" He asked, his heart in his throat as he scanned around the room for the hyper newsie. "Where is he?" _

_Red turned, surprised to see him, "Spot! Where-"_

_Didn't he see? Didn't he REALIZE! Spot spun on his heel, racing back to his house fast as his legs could carry him. It couldn't be! It COULDN'T. That warning, the one he had been feeling ever since the day before..._

_He threw the door open wide...and saw..._

Spot sat bolt upright in the bed, chest heaving as sweat ran down his face. A dream...it was all a dream...Some of it anyway. The part about him standing up to his father, that had been real. But when he came home, when he came to tell Race, he was so tired...

Running a hand through his hair he just rolled back over, telling himself he would get up in a minute...he was just closing his eyes...that was all...

In mere moments he was asleep again.

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Race stiffened as he felt someone come up behind him on the roof. Keeping his eyes down, he shuffled the deck in his hands again, priding himself on how calm he sounded, "Im not going to do anything stupid."

"I didn't think you would."

Spinning around, his mouth opened in a snarl, but a hand slammed over his lips, silencing him as a blade glinted in front of his face. He could see himself on the slick surface, see the razor sharp edge glinting in the light.

"I didn't think you would," Jake Conlon repeated, "Because if you did, my son would pay for it. And you don't want that, do you, Race?"

No. Race didnt want that.

"Good." He purred with a chilling smirk as he pulled the youth back, hand firmly over his mouth. "Good."

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okay, so people don't get too confused- this isn't a slash. This is just real well-built friendship. Okay? Okay. -grin-

Now go forth and review!


	7. Why!

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter seven: Why!

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Blinking his eyes open, Spot yawned, rubbing at his face as he took a look around. He didn't remember falling asleep again, and certainly didn't remember when he had fallen asleep in _Race's bed. _

...Race...?

Scrambling to his feet he looked around, trying to get some idea where the poker player had gone. He should never have fallen asleep, he shouldn't have let his guard down. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure Race wouldn't do something stupid...

Plus he wanted to tell him what he had done.

He spun on his heel and his eyes spied the corner of an object that had been sticking out from under the small lump the newsies called a pillow.

Frowning, Spot leaned forward, tugging on it and drawing it out. It was a card, a playing card he recognized as belonging to Race's deck, but it was the card itself that froze him where he stood, made his breath catch in his throat.

It was the Jack of Clubs. Race's card.

_"Hey, Race!" Skittery laughed as he leaned over the smaller newsie. "You've told us what cards we are, but what about Spot?" _

_Spot looked up from where he was sitting, sipping his drink, "Naw, don't worry about it. I don't care-"_

_"AW, be a sport, Spottie!" Specs cried, clapping him on the back, "Go on, Race, which one is our lovely master here?" _

_Race smiled, flipping the card off the top of the deck. "King of Diamonds." _

_"And that means what, exactly?" Spot, the ever clueless. Sure, he was king, and that was cool. But what did it mean...?_

"_Fair-haired man, or a man of the Earth. A man of authority, status, or influence."_

"_Sounds bout right!" Dutchy called out from the back. _

_The leader of Brooklyn chuckled, "So, who else has gotten a face card?" _

_"Red and Ace. Red is the King of Hearts- a fair haired man with a good nature, usually __of water. He has fair, helpful advice, and is affectionate and caring. He helps you__without much in the way of talking, but his actions reveal all." _

_The Brooklyn newsies nodded, yeah, that was Red all right. Some of them looked over to_

_where the elder was sitting and he flashed them a smile. Ace, who was sitting right next to him, raised his glass with a flourish._

_"I, dear friend, am the King of Clubs!" He smirked and recited, "Darker-haired and_

_kind, with fire as his element. Generous, spirited, and the handsomest of them all!" _

_The group laughed and Race threw a pillow at him, "That wasn't in there, you big tub of __lard!" _

_Spot grinned, "Oh yea? Then you are...?" _

_"Sure you can handle it?" He teased, shuffling his cards with quick movements. _

_Suddenly he flicked his wrist , sending one sliding out in front of him, face-down. "Im the Jack of Clubs." He reached over and flipped it so everyone could see that the card he held was truly the Jack. _

Now Spot held it, and couldn't help the panic that spread through his mind. No, no, no, it couldn't be...not Race...

The card was torn nearly in half, and taped to it, back-to-back, was another. He flipped it and stiffened in horror.

_"Hey, Race...ya dropped one." Spot reached down and picked up the lone card, turning it over in his hand. It looked harmless enough, just a simple card, an ace to be exact. But his heart slammed hard in his chest, his stomach did flips and he could only look up as Race's eyes fell to the card he held and sucked in a sharp breath. _

_"What is it?" He had managed to ask, "What does this card mean?" _

_"The Ace of Spades." He murmurred, slipping it back into the deck before turning quickly on his heel, "It means misfortune, a difficult ending...or death.' _

It was the Ace that Spot held.

All the blood drained from his face in mere seconds, leaving him light-headed and faint. Gripping the side of the table, his legs literally collapsed, sending him to the floor on his knees. All his mind could think about were his father's eyes, seething in rage...

And the dream...

_The minute he stepped in the room, however, he knew something was wrong. Someone...was missing..._

_"Where's Race?" He asked, his heart in his throat as he scanned around the room for the hyper newsie. "Where is he?" _

And, just like in the dream, he knew where Race was.

He just prayed to God he was wrong.

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Ace looked up from his game when the door upstairs slammed open and Spot came running down the stairs, half-dressed with a wild look in his eyes. In his left hand he clutched something torn, and in his right he gripped his cane so hard his knuckles were bone white.

"Spot...?" Jack rose slowly from across the table, "Spot? What is it? What's wrong?"

'Who are you going to kill?' was left unsaid.

Because, judging by the way he stormed down the last steps, he was indeed, going to kill someone. Every one in the common room knew that, just as they knew that if they didn't get out of the way, _they _would be the ones meeting the ground face-first.

So they moved, every single one of them flying back to the walls in an attempt to keep out of Spot's line of vision. And none of them breathed again until he was out the doors and running off down the street.

Dutchy, who was the one closest to the entrance, bent down to pick up something Spot had dropped. His eyes widened and he staggered backwards, nearly knocking over Specs, who reached out and steadied him quickly.

"What's wrong!"

Dutchy gulped as he held up the mutilated cards, just as the bottom half of the Jack fell away, floating down to land on the floor.

_Race..._

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As soon as Spot's foot left the lodging house he bolted, slipping in and out of people, his legs flying as he pushed them to their limits, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side, ignoring the looks he was getting, ignoring the annoying voice in the very back of his head that told him he was already too late.

He ignored it all and kept on running.

His breath was ragged by the time he came to his street, his legs burning and ready to fall off. Every intake of air hurt him, made him wince in pain, but he couldn't stop...Couldn't take a rest, couldn't pause to catch his breath.

He knew if he did that, he was dooming Race even more.

_'Almost there...almost...'_ That was the chant his mind started up as he blocked all else out but the door to his home as it came closer and closer. _'Almost...THERE!' _

He barreled in the door, and stopped dead in his tracks.

_Race..._

"Race..." He whispered, seeing the Manhattan newsie on his knees, head bowed as tears dried on his face. His back was torn apart worse than Spot's had ever been, blood pouring to the carpet in a scarlet waterfall.

He couldn't even look up at Spot.

"Do you like you're present, Matthew?"

"Why!" Spot snapped weakly, having to grip the frame to keep from collapsing. Tears were building up in his eyes, threatening to spill over and arch down his face in hot lines.

"_WHY!_"

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I updated in the morning...cause. -grin- so...review? Please?


	8. Brothers always do

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Eight: Brothers always do

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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"Because you defied me, of course." Jake said it calmly as if nothing was wrong as he sat next to Race, belt over his knees. "If you had merely went with it without a complaint your friend wouldn't be here, he wouldn't have been begging for mercy, he wouldn't have taken the blows meant for you."

"You're a sadist!"

With a flick of his wrist, his father brought the leather cracking against Race's face, sending him rolling to the side, a moan slipping past his lips. "Do you wish for more abuse, Matthew?"

Spot stared, eyes wide. "You...you..."

"This is what happens when you defy me." Jake got to his feet, belt held tightly in his hand. He turned his back on them, "Do it again...and I might just take the little kid. The one with the brown hair and the sharp tongue."

"Shorty." Spot whispered, ice slipping down his spine."Don't...Father, please."

He snorted, "If he bleeds any more on my rug it'll be your hide." And he left through a door.

"Race!" Spot was at his friend's side in an instant, trying to get him to stand, "Oh god, Race, im so sorry! I...I...God..."

"Hey man." Race gave him a crooked half smile, even as blood dripped down his face, mingling with the tears he had shed. "What are ya gettin so upset about? This doesn't...hurt at all...im just fine..."

Spot chuckled weakly despite himself. Yeah, Race was fine. And he was in fact a pink bunny who spent his life handing out candy to little children on Easter. "All right, Race. Lets just get you home, okay?"

"Matthew."

Knowing it had been too good to be true, Spot turned, biting his tongue to keep it in check. He didn't want Race getting hurt again. That was the last thing he wanted. "Yes father?"

There was always a chance...

"Come here." He snapped, his eyes bloodshot. Well, there went Spot's one chance.

The youth's eyes shot over to Race, who shook his head, managing a whispered "Don't..."

'_Don't what? Don't save you?' _His hands tightened into fists as he met the other's tear-stained face. _'There is only one thing I can do.' _

"Im sorry, Race, but I cant stand letting him hurt you." He stood in front of his father, squared his shoulders and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow that would send him reeling, snapping bones and tearing skin.

_'God, Race...Im sorry.' _Was the only thing he could think of as the belt whistled through the air towards his head._'So very, very sorry I got you involved in all this...' _

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Red was, needless to say, quite angry at Ace for slipping whatever it was into his drink that morning, and he was in the process of beating the crap out of him, when Boots came rushing into the safe-house, waving his arms and rambling on about Spot.

"Woah, calm down!" David pushed him down into a chair, handing him a glass of water. "Now, talk slower. What happened?"

All Red heard were the words Jake Conlon and he was gone, everything forgotten as he sprinted down the streets, praying against everything that Spot was okay. Because if he wasn't...

There would be hell to pay.

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The blow never came.

"Listen...ya big...lummox..."

Spot's eyes flew open in shock and outright surprise, staring at Race's back as he hissed at the taller man. His left arm was up, the sleeve torn as blood dribbled down it. He had taken the hit in Spot's place.

"Spot...aint sometin...ya can...pummel..." Race's breath was ragged, but he stood his ground, right between father and son. "At least...not without...some payback...!"

Jake fell back from the punch, clutching his nose and howling in rage.

Brooklyn's leader decided now was a good time to run and he grabbed Race's wrist, literally pulling him all the way out of the house and down the street, his father's cursing following him the whole way, echoing off buildings.

Finally he stopped, immediately pinning the other to a wall. "What did you think you were doing! You could have been killed!" His voice was panicked, on the verge of complete hysterics.

He couldn't believe that the other had saved him like that.

It was just...Too hard to believe.

Race, however, just looked at him calmly, "So could have you."

Well, he couldn't argue with that, but... "Its not the same!"

The Manhattan newsie's eyebrows rose a little, "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because...well, because...It just is, all right!" He wrung his hands, looking completely at a loss. "I mean...look at you, Race! I couldn't have...its..."

Race chuckled lightly, but the movement made something inside him burst in a shower of pain and he gasped, legs turning to rubber. He cried out, trying to stop his fall, but all he could do was grab onto the other, bringing them both to the ground.

Spot blinked in shock as he hit the ground, immediately scrambling to his knees. "Race!"

The poker player moaned his name as he curled up on himself, sweat beading on his skin and dripping down his face. "It hurts...oh it hurts...Spot..."

"I know! I know, Race...Just...don't think about it! Don't think about it!" He pulled one of the other's arms over his shoulder, supporting his weight as his panicked mind tried to catch up with his body movements.

What if Race died? What if his father had ruptured something internally?

What if...He was dying even now?

That last thought did nothing to help Spot as he stumbled along, whispering comfortingly to the other youth. He couldn't die, he just COULDN'T! "Don't you dare die on me, Higgins! Don't you DARE!"

Race coughed, blood flecking his lips. "I'll...try..." He gasped.

It was terrible, tiring work, trying to get through the streets as the sun beat down mercilessly on them, burning their skin. There was no one out, not a soul.

_'There has to be someone...' _Spot thought in desperation, his hands moving so he could support Race better. '_There just has to be someone. Anyone.' _

Race moaned as the other's hand brushed against his tender back, sweat pouring down his neck and over the lashes, making him hiss in agony. It was so hot and he hurt so much, it was unbearable, intolerable pain, every piece of his body was screaming.

_"Coward."_

Gritting his teeth, he took another step, pushing himself to keep up with the easy and yet demanding pace the Brooklyn leader had set. He couldn't let Spot do it all, his pride wouldn't allow it. But Spot's pride wouldn't allow him to help either.

"Just hold on...Race..." The leader whispered, "I'll...get you home...Don't worry..."

The sun must have fried Race's brain more than he thought because he chuckled weakly and let his head fall a little against the other's shoulder. "I wont, Spot...I know you'll take care of me."

Spot blinked, looking down at him. "Is that so? And how do you know that?"

Race just smiled. "Brothers always do."

"Yeah...Ill do dat, im your brother after all, I'll..." The body he was holding up began to feel just a little heavier and he turned to look over his shoulder.

"RACE!" He screamed, spinning to catch the other as he slid off his shoulder, head bowed over his chest...his _still _chest.

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OK! I updated early, because well...its my b-day, and Prince gave me the greatest present ever, and I wanted to update early. I will still update tomorrow though, but not till late in the day. So...two updates. -cheers-

if you want to see what my present was, put it in your review, and i'll send you the link. im...not smart enough to get it to work on this.

-starts to cry again-


	9. Come along, Mister Conlon

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Nine: Come along, Mister Conlon

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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"Race!" He set the other down on his back, his fingers twitching as a fine tremor began to work up his arms and across his chest, his heart starting to nearly thump out of his chest. Why wasn't Race answering him? Why wasn't he answering him!

_"I know you'll take care of me...Brothers always do."_

Brothers...They were brothers...

And he was letting him die.

Race's head was tilted to the side, cheek to the pavement, his lips a sharp crimson from the blood, his skin an alarming shade of ashen gray that sent chills up and down Spot's spine. He knew what was wrong the minute he saw the way he was laying, the stillness to the chest.

He wasn't breathing.

Millions of thoughts ran through his head then. He heard voices, conversations, anything and everything. He had to save Racetrack, absolutely had to! But he didn't know how.

And there was no one around.

"Race...Race..." Somehow he had started to chant, a soft breathing of the elder's name. He couldn't die, not here, not in Spot's arms. That was just too cruel, just too darn cruel!

"WAKE UP RACE!" He screamed, his voice echoing in the air, "GOD DANGIT YOU WILL WAKE UP!" His fist slammed onto the ground so hard his skin tore. "YOU WILL!"

"SPOT!"

The unexpected shouting of his name made the youth's head jerk upward in alarm, eyes wide. He had never been so thankful in his life. And the one who was rushing towards him was even better.

"Red! Red...He's not breathing!" He stammered, "Race's not...!"

Red fell to his knees, easily taking charge as he brushed a strand of hair from his own face. He gently pushed Spot back, eyes running over Race with a sharp look. He moved the newsie so he was straight on the ground, arms at his sides with the palms down to the pavement.

Tilting the youth's head back, Red softly forced breath after breath into the other's lungs, once and a while putting a firm pressure on his abdomen, and occasionally felling around his throat.

Spot could have slapped himself silly and then hung himself over his bridge. Every newsie in Brooklyn had been taught such a simple maneuver. It was usually used for drowning victims, so why was Red-

_Oh..._

Red pulled back just as Race's body jerked slightly, his head turning to the side as he coughed, blood slipping past his lips to splatter over the ground. His eyes fluttered open weakly before he sagged back against the concrete.

But he was breathing again.

"There's probably a cut," The redhead explained, his finger tips feeling around the base of the Manhattan boy's throat. "Somewhere around here, and it was bleeding, leaking into his breathing tubes, and at the angle he was at...He wasn't aware of it until it was too late."

"It was so fast." Spot murmurred, his hands shaking, "So fast...I didn't know what to do...There was no time.."

"No." Red easily lifted Race into his arms, but his eyes were on Spot, his small smile sincere. "You did good, kid. Real good."

"But its my fault, Red! If I hadn't stood up to him..." Why did he feel the need to justify it? Why did he have to justify Race's injuries? Was it to ease his own guilt? Was it because he knew, deep down, that if he had just died so long ago...this would never have happened, and Race wouldn't be lying there? "This wouldn't have-"

"Don't kid yourself, Spot. He would have done it eventually, its his nature, the only thing he knows." He tilted his head to the side, motioning the other to follow him as he led the way home. "Whether it were now or later, Race or someone else entirely...He would have still done it. However, I, for one, am quite proud of you standing up to him, Matthew."

Matthew.

That was his name, the one he had been given at birth. Matthew Christopher Conlon. His mother, long ago when she was still in her own mind, called him that. His sister, called him that. His father...

No, _Jake Conlon_, called him that.

But the only time it didn't sound like a curse, was when it came from Red's mouth.

Spot smirked a little as he watched Red's back, and despite the gravity of the recent events, he smiled and murmurred, in a barely audible tone, too soft for the other to hear, "Thanks...Dad."

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Spot turned over in the bed, covers pooled around his waist. A sliver of moonlight drifted in past the covered windows, landing on his bare torso and sending a flare of silver through the sleeping room.

A soft smile came across his face as he turned the key over and over in his fingers. As insignificant as it may seem, the key was a vital part of why he was leader. His cane was the flag, but the key...the key...

He had first seen that key around Red's neck, years before he even thought of becoming a newsie. Everyone seemed to want to get their hands on it, but Red had given it to Spot, after their first brush with Karlof in Queens.

He had asked Red then what it had meant and what it went to.

He was told to never ask again, but that he would know when the time came.

That time came...Years later when a foolish kid in Manhattan started a strike.

_""They say that Spot Conlon is the key..." _

Spot would never say it to his face of course, but the Mouth had been wise that day, wiser than even he knew. He had answered Spot's question, the one that had been bugging him since he was a child. What did the key under his shirt mean?

He asked Red once more.

And got an answer.

_"That key you wear, its nuttin special at all. It went, long ago, to the first lodging house, when Brooklyn was first established." _

_"Then why does everyone want it? Why did you tell me to keep it secret?" Spot was confused, he at least thought it went to something important! _

_Red glanced at him from under the brim of his hat, eyes full of a fierce fire. "Because, Matthew, it's the key to Brooklyn." _

He had been left to puzzle that one out, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had finally figured it out. It wasn't just that it was a part of their history, but it was the sign of their leader, maybe even more so than the cane, because it was the start, and it would be the end.

Because he had kept it secret, until the time had come.

And when the time had come, he told the world...

Spot Conlon was here to stay.

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The next morning, everything fell apart.

Spot had just sat down with something to eat when there was an almighty banging at the doors, in which Boots nearly tripped over himself to open. Race was upstairs sleeping, and he didn't need to be disturbed.

It was the cops.

They stalked inside with the air only adults carried, that smug swagger that clearly said they owned the area, that they could make anyone and everyone bow down to the ground they walked on.

But Spot was there, and he had that air too.

"Can I help you?" Jack asked, standing slightly to the left of the group of Brooklyn newsies. His tone was polite, but sharp. He hadn't forgotten his recent brush with these men.

"Im looking for a Matthew Conlon." The deputy, a tall and mean looking man said slowly, flipping out a piece of paper. "This here is a court order. He is an underage child, and is thus required to return to his home. Now."

Spot's world crumbled out from under his feet, taking him with it down and down, into the empty darkness, without a hand-hold, without any way to stop himself. He cast a stunned look around at his friends, his boys...They could only stare back in horror.

A court order.

He couldn't challenge a court order.

His spoon fell from his hand, hitting the plate with a sound that echoed forever, and the deputy seemed to know, had to know, because he looked at Spot and said it a cool, collected voice.

"Come along, Mister Conlon."

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awww! -cries- im sorry! I forgot to update it! So it's a little late! Im sorry! Don't hate meeeeeeee! ...review?


	10. Death solves nothing

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Ten: Death solves nothing

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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There was nothing anyone could do.

Nothing...But stand there as the cops led Spot out of the Manhattan safe-house, an armed guard on either side with a firm grip on his upper arm, in case he tried to bolt. But where would he go? He couldn't run forever.

"Why did he call you?" Red asked for the thirtieth time as he blocked the door. "Sp- Matthew is perfectly fine and happy here! He doesn't need them!"

"That is not your concern, kid!" The deputy snapped as he jerked Spot forward by the arm, "Get outta the way!"

The leader of Brooklyn's anger flared, both from his rotten treatment and at the assumption Red was a child. And it most certainly WAS his concern! It was Red's concern more than it was anyone else!

"Don't talk to my father like dat!" He snarled, the room quieting around him instantly. It was the first time he had ever said it out loud like that. "If Jake Conlon wants me back, he can fight for me. In court!"

For the longest time afterwards, Spot couldn't tell you why he had said that, why he could put himself at such a risk. In court, nothing was secret. Everything Jake Conlon had done to him would come into play, into the open.

His dark secrets that he had tried to hide away, the very mention of what he had let happen to him. His reputation would shatter, he would no longer be feared, but laughed at.

Pitied even.

The pity he wouldn't allow, but the reputation...He could live without. For seeing his birth-father's face twisted in rage at the court summons would be an image he would cherish for the rest of his life.

Then his happy bubble shattered.

Red's eye twitched, "What did you just say? Did you just say you STILL have to take him back there!" His hands closed into fists at his sides, so hard his nails cut at his palms.

"Im sorry, sir, but that isn't my concern-"

"Make it your concern."

Spot's eyes widened, "Race?" He tore one arm free and took a step back into the room, eyes darting to the second floor landing. It was only natural, he supposed, that the noise would have woken him...But...

Race was leaning heavily on the railing at the top of the stairs, a concerned Mush hovering right behind him, as if fearing the other would fall and hurt himself. He kept looking at the cops and then at Spot, confused as to what had happened.

There was no need to worry about Race falling, however. His body might have been weak, but the spirit raging behind those dark eyes, was strong. He glared at the cops as if they had done something unforgivable.

And they had.

"Make it your concern." He repeated, "An abused child stands there, fear in his eyes at the mere mention of his father and his home, and you want to _take him back?_"

Those last words were sharp, precise, and said with so much hatred, even the calm and collected David was looking at the poker player in complete shock.

Spot was pretty sure he was anything but afraid, but what else could Race say? He didn't want to go back there, that much was obvious, but really, what choice did he have? He couldn't run away again, they'd just find him.

_"Defy me again...and I might just take the little kid. The one with the brown hair and the sharp tongue."_

His eyes flew toward his men on pure instinct, running over each and every one before falling on Shorty's face. He wasn't that young, despite how he looked, but...

_'Could he handle it? Could any of them?' _

He wasn't going to get an answer to his own question...Nor was he going to hold another friend's...another _brother's _broken body in his arms again. He wouldn't, couldn't handle it. He wasn't going to be the reason for any more pain among his boys.

He would take his own blows, shoulder his own pain.

"Im sorry."

He was speaking to Race. Only to Race.

"You can't go back there, Spot." Race's face was so white it made paper nearly look black as he gripped the rail tighter. "He'll kill you."

"I know." For once, he was afraid. Afraid of being weak, being worthless.

But not of dying, never of dying.

"Which is why..." He reached up with shaking fingers and unclasped the key around his neck, among gasps and started looks from Red and the others from Brooklyn and Manhattan alike. Never before had that key left Spot's neck.

Red took a step toward him, "No, Spot...No one but you can hold dat." He took those last steps, closing his fingers around the key in Spot's hand, pushing it to the younger's chest. "Keep it." The silver hit the light and flared.

"I don't want to risk him getting it." The leader smiled weakly as he pressed it into the other's hand. "I know you'll take good care of it, Red."

He shrugged loose from the other cop, who didn't really offer up much resistance now that he knew the kid was coming with them, and walked up the stairs, until he stood just a few feet away from Race.

"And I know you'll take good care of this, Race."

The very world held its breath, as, in front of everyone, Spot Conlon handed his cane, the flag of the Brooklyn newsies, to Racetrack Higgins.

Race looked down at the cane in his hand in complete and utter shock. "I...cant..."

"You can and you will." Spot's voice held that edge to it that told everyone it was an order, "I can trust you with it, brother."

And he turned and walked away. Just walked away without another word, past everyone, slowing only as he got closer to the Deputy and his men. He didn't want to leave...But he had to. So he took the time he could to commit it all to memory, to remember...

"Wait!" Race called out suddenly as he lunged past Mush and somewhat half-fell half-ran down the set of stairs, "Matt, _wait_!"

Spot's feet froze to the floor, despite his every attempt at making them keep moving. If he stopped he was going to change his mind, if he stopped he was going to loose his nerve, if he stopped...

"Nothing you will say will make me change my mind, Racetrack. This is something I have to do." He prayed his voice wasn't a shaky as he thought it was.

The poker player stopped a foot in front of him, hand gripping the cane so tightly his knuckles were bone white. "No...I just thought, before you went...That you'd like to know..."

_Know? Know what? _

"The name's Anthony."

Complete silence fell, broken only by Spot Conlon's weak, "You...?"

"Remember? Yes, for a little while now." He laid a hand on the other's shoulder, and once again, they were the only ones in the room it seemed. "I've beaten my past, its time for you to beat yours. Which is why I wont stop you...Whatever it is you decide to do in the end."

The youth stared up at him in astonishment, swallowing the lump in his throat. "How did you...?" How could he know, everything he had been thinking...The one thought, of maybe...

Ending it all...?

Race gave him a small smile, "I know that look, remember? You are not the only one who thought death was a good way out...But, know this, Conlon." His eyes grew cold for a moment, "_Death solves nothing_."

They were the same. The same words Spot had growled that day, so long ago when he had been lucky. Lucky enough to save Race when he needed saving the most, saving him from being a splatter on the pavement.

But nothing could save Spot now.

He left then, led back to Hell by the very people who should have helped him, and away from the family who would.

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that's kinda sad, eh? BUT- hey, Spot admitted Red was his father out loud, and he is standing up to Jake...so, we'll see what happens, right? -wink-

Reviews make me happy! You all know this by now. -smile-


	11. For Spot

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Eleven: For Spot

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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It was three in the morning, the moon covered by a sheet of dark clouds, the stars veiled and dim. An icy wind blew through all of New York, sneaking into every house, freezing water and frosting over metal. It was a type of cold that couldn't be held at bay with blankets alone.

Spot shivered, teeth chattering so hard his jaw ached. He curled up in the single dirty sheet he had managed to grab a hold of before he had been thrust into the basement, shirtless, and with blood covering his upper chest. He had tried to wipe some of it away, but the shallow cuts had already clotted, and what was worse, they seemed to attract the cold even more than the chains around his wrists did.

Even though his skull was about ready to split open and he was sure something around his chest was badly hurt, he was thankful. Thankful his father had been in a good mood, thankful he was sent here instead of the morgue, thankful Jake Conlon had only given him one rule.

Not to sleep.

However, that was going to be a lot harder to manage than the youth had, at first, thought. He was so tired, both emotionally and physically, his eyes throbbing from the force it was taking to keep them open. But...it was late...so surely it wouldn't be so bad if he just slept for a little? He just had to get up before his father. God... he was so tired...

His eyes slid shut immediately, his breathing evening out as he fell headfirst into a deep sleep, but something kept pulling at him, a voice in the back of his head. It told him he had to remember to...remember to...

Well, whatever it was he had to do...it was going to wait.

He was just...just so tired...

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"Red, this aint gonna work!" Race bit out in anger, his eyes following the redhead as he paced back and forth across the floor, "Thats a stupid idea and you know it!"

"Then give me a bettah one, Anthony Higgins!" Red exploded, throwing the glass in his hand against the wall so hard it shattered all over the floor. "Cause every second we waste here, Spot is payin foah it!" His Brooklyn accent was so sharp it literally rent the air as he woke the entire house. "Do you WANT his blood on your hands, anymore den it already is!"

Race's head snapped up, his eyes wild, and Red knew instantly he had went just one step too far. "Excuse me?" His voice was lethal, deadly even, as he got to his feet. "If his blood is on anyones hands, it is yours, ya sorry excuse for a leadah!"

The poker player was stunned by what he was saying, but the words kept coming out of his mouth, one after another. He had never talked like this to Red, never. He had been Red's right hand man back in Brooklyn. They had been brothers, had saved each other's life far more than once, had put everything on the line to protect their friendship, and now..the words that were coming out of his mouth...He couldn't believe _he_ was the one saying such things, especially since they weren't the least bit true.

By now, everyone was up, crowding the doorway to the only single room the Manhattan safe-house had. Jack pushed his way in, a shirt hanging off his shoulders. He had been prepared to step in the middle of it, but know that he saw, saw the look in their eyes...that Brooklyn look...He backed off at once.

He wasn't getting in the middle of that one.

"What would you know of leadin!" Red snarled, eyes flashing. "You aint no leadah, nevah have been! You stood back in da shadows and let everyones else fight, just like you stood in da shadows and let dem take Spot!"

For a minute Race thought he had seriously heard Red wrong. He had to have been, because what he just heard.. "What did you just say? THAT I LET DEM TAKE HIM!" Before he knew what he was doing, his fist had slammed into the elder's jaw, sending him staggering back into the wall, "YOU WERE TWO FEET FROM HIM, YOU ARE HIS FATHER! I SHOULDN'T HAVE HAD TA DO ANYTHING AT ALL, HE WAS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY!"

"I KNOW HE WAS!" Red screamed, right hooking Race even as he tried to dislodge a large piece of glass that had imbedded itself in his foot. "BUT IT WASN'T ME HE WENT TO FOAH HELP, WAS IT! HE WENT TO YOU!"

Race froze from where he had fallen back onto the bed, hand holding on to his face. He blinked, wide-eyed, up at the other, startled to see a tear fall down his cheek. Red almost never cried, and especially not in front of others.

"He didn't come to me...Didn't ask foah my help." Red whispered, hand coming up to wipe the drop away, leaving blood behind on his skin. "I could've kept him away...hidden him..."

Suddenly he was on his knees, staring at his red hands. "But instead...I let him go back there...back to that house." Tears were streaming down his face, "You're right, Race, I am a failure...as a leadah, as a father...He was two feet away from me...and I did _nothing..._"

Race stared, openmouthed as he glanced over at the door, just as Ace forced his way to the front, literally shoving people out of his way as he stalked into the room. It was so silent you could hear the floor board creak slightly as the Bronx leader knelt in front of the other.

For a moment it was utterly still, and then Ace gently pulled Red's hands into his own, closing his fingers around the blood. _"Fratello che...e tutto il di destra, noi lo otterra indietro. Lo giuro a voi_." He said softly in Italian.

( Brother...It is all right, we will get him back. I swear it to you.)

Red's eyes were haunted as he raised them, "_Allineare?_"

(Truly?)

Ace took a long look around the room, seeing that everyone was more or less, clueless as to what was being said. Most of the Manhattan newsies were Italian, and could speak a little, but very few of them knew this much. Race, however, was half-way off the bed, waiting for his answer.

So he gave the only one he could.

"_Lo giuro..._" He repeated, taking a deep breath, "_Sul mio titolo._"

(I swear it...On my title.)

"_No!_" Race shouted, on his feet, "_Ace, smussate!_" For Ace to swear on his title...That meant...if something went wrong...Bronx wouldn't be his anymore, it would be open season for anyone to just dance in and take it. And with the leader law there...if someone bad were to take charge, they would be stuck with him.

(No! Ace, you cant!)

Ace looked from him to the very alert Red, who had torn his hands away and was now staring at the Bronx boy as if he had never seen him before in his life. "_Lo latta, ed io._" He said sharply, "_E la mia scelta_."

(I can, and I will. It is my choice.)

"_Ma non siete giusti rischiandosi._" Red was trembling as he shook his head back and forth rapidly. "_Smusso li ho lasciati farmi questo per!_"

(But you are not just risking yourself. I cant let you do this for me!)

"Im not doing it for you." Ace said, in English, as he stood, for once looking every inch the respectable and noble leader he was. "Im doing it for Spot."

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"BOY!"

Spot's eyes flew open so fast his vision swam and he cried out as he was drug to his feet and shoved back against the wall so hard his head flew back and struck stone.

_"DIDN'T I TELL YOU NOT TO SLEEP!_" Jake screamed in outrage as he slammed his fist into the boy's gut. There was a loud crack as his previously injured rib gave, and Spot screamed, his vision going from red to white to black and then back to red again as the door slammed open, hitting the wall with a bang.

He was sure it was Red, maybe even Race. He was so sure it was one of the newsies, coming to his rescue finally, that when he looked up, he was struck speechless and he could only stare. It wasn't Red, or Race. It wasn't even a newsie.

It was his sister.

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oooooo, betcha some of you weren't expecting most of that.

So, review, and Thursday you get the next one! How's that sound? -grin-


	12. To save Spot

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Twelve: To save Spot.

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Spot stared up at his sister in complete shock and utter confusion. He willed her to leave, practically begging her with his eyes. He hadn't forgotten what had happened to her the last time she had tried to stand up to father for his sake.

He would never get the screams out of his head.

He pleaded with everything but his voice, even as she came down the stairs, her hands relaxed at her sides, chin lifted proudly and shoulder's straight. Her eyes met with her little brother's, met and held. She shook her head a little, but Jake was too drunk to even notice.

"Father?" She said politely, bowing her head a little, "Mother is asking for you. She says the police will come to investigate if you continue making such noise down here. She wondered..." She licked her lips a little, "If you would come back upstairs and lie with her, after all, it is so early and we are leaving later today."

Jake's eyes flashed, and a chill ran up Spot's spine a second before he backhanded her to the floor, towering over her with his belt still looped around his wrist. He jerked her to her feet by her hair, and the younger had half a second to cry a sharp, "Don't hit her!" before Jake let his fist connect with her stomach, doubling her over with a sharp yelp.

Spot was ignored, probably not even heard over his sister's pleas, voice drowned out and overpowered. He laid an open handed smack across her face, coming away stained with blood from her split lip. "Foolish, insolent, child!" He screamed, face red with fury, "Do you know nothing! Your _brother _has made it IMPOSSIBLE for us to leave now!"

She looked up, eyes slightly wide as she gazed at Spot across the dirty floor, the question burning just behind her eyes. Had he really done something? And if he had...What was it? He kicked her in the ribs and she gagged, head bowed so that her long hair fell around her face.

"I apologize, father." She whispered, "I was wrong and you were right."

Jake Conlon snorted as he strode past her and up the stairs. He turned at the top, so that the light framed his large body, snarling cruelly down at his own blood. And then he slammed the door and locked it with the dead-bolt.

Caroline wiped the blood off with the back of her hand as she half-crawled toward her brother, pulling a hair pin from inside one of her boots. She leaned over him, fiddling with the chains around his wrists.

"Are you okay, Matt?" She murmurred. "Im sorry I couldn't come sooner."

Spot stared, wide eyed as the chains fell off and feeling returned to his aching fingers. He winced as he pulled his arms around and started to massage them. "Why are you doing this, Caroline?"

She sat against the wall and stuck the pin back into her shoe, hiding it under the stocking, close to her skin. She crossed her arms around herself, shivering. "Why shouldn't I? You are my brother, are you not?" Her eyes grew cold and hard, "Or have you denounced me as you have father?"

Spot couldn't answer that one, so instead he looked down at the floor, asking a question of his own. "So...How is mom doin?"

"The same."

"Still denying my existence?"

"Of course."

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Ace stood at the edge of the Bronx, his men in a ring around him. He had told them what he had done, and the events leading up to such a decision. They mostly supported him, gave him their well-wishes and asked him to call on them if he needed any help.

He smiled and thanked them, hoping this would not be the last time he ever stood in his city again. He had grew up in the Bronx, bled in the Bronx, and would hope, one day, to be buried there as well.

"So, this is it?" A low voice asked in anger, "You're just going to walk away?"

Ace turned on his heel, heart thumping as the men parted to allow the co-leader entrance. He was tall, a little taller than Ace, and a few years older as well. His hair was dark brown, nearly mahogany, with a slight wave to it. His eyes were slightly lighter, near chestnut in color, and they were usually warm and jovial.

Now they were as sharp and cold as ice.

"I told you what happened, Munch. I thought you understood." He didn't want to fight, and especially not with Munch. The newsie had been a brother to him, a replacement if you will, for his late brother, who gave him the leadership in the first place. When all seemed lost, and Ace had been standing alone between the Bronx and their enemy, Munch had come up out of the crowd to stand next to him.

"I understand." The other snapped. "I understand you basically handed us over to anyone who cares to hop the border and come here!"

The newsies exchanged alarmed glances, backing up a little. "Joey..."

"Don't 'Joey' me!" Munch cried in rage, taking the last few steps to go toe to toe with Ace. "Don't you DARE address me like that! Not when you turn around and do this! I trusted you! WE TRUSTED YOU!"

Jack, who had accompanied him from Manhattan, made a move to step in between them, but Specs grabbed his arm and drug him back. He shook his head, just as Munch reached out and slugged the Bronx leader in the jaw.

Ace jerked back, but his feet stayed planted to the dirt. He turned his head, taking a soft breath. "I know I deserved that. Heck, I probably deserve a hit like that from each of you." He looked around at the group, "And probably more than one, too. Be that as it may...I am not abandoning you, never will I abandon you. But I gave them my word, and what leader would I be if I didn't honor my word? I know...I wouldn't be the leader you all would need, or would even want. So, I ask you, to wait for me, to trust in me. If I fail...Then I will leave and you will never see me again, I give you my word on that."

All was silent, no one even daring to breathe. Then, with a huff of anger, Munch turned and stalked away, turning his back on Ace. Jack and Specs exchanged a look, even as Ace bowed his head, turning on his own heel as he stepped over the border.

And didn't look back.

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Red was sitting on his bed, legs drawn up to his chin as he stared off into space, the glittering key sitting in his palm, catching the rays of the sun as they drifted in through the window. Now that he thought about it, he knew this day would come.

Sooner or later, he knew Jake Conlon would try and get Spot back. He knew it, but he chose to ignore it, try and forget there was ever a man named Jake Conlon, and that he had anything to do with his leader.

It almost seemed like everything had fallen apart after they had returned from Queens.

"Im sorry, kid." He whispered to the empty room, "Im sorry I couldn't help you when you needed me the most-"

The door banged open, startling him so much his head slammed upward, his neck protesting with a sharp and immediate stab of pain. Ace stood there, arms crossed and with a stern look in his eyes.

"Be sorry later." He told him as he threw a bundle of clothes at his head. "Get dressed, we have to get you ready to save Spot."

Red pocketed the key and caught the clothes one handed. He looked down at them in surprise, "How is me putting this on going to help Spot?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out." The leader came in and fingered a lock of his long red hair, a frown on his face. "This wont do either." He grabbed Red's arm and literally dragged him off the bed and down the stairs, depositing him in a chair.

"What are you DOIN!" The elder practically shrieked, "First ya tell me to change, then ya drag me outta my room! Will you make up your mind!"

Ace snorted as he picked up a pair of scissors, halting all activity in the room. The Manhattan and Brooklyn newsies who were not out selling crowded around them, chattering like mad as Red eyed the other in horror.

"What do you think you're doin wit those?"

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Wells, coming next week, its down to one day a week, until i can get more chapters done. Tell me, which day do you guys prefer?  
-smile- im sorry, but cross your fngers and hope i get them done fast!  
and as always, review!


	13. Law of Brooklyn

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Thirteen: Law of Brooklyn

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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It was a few days later that Spot found himself in the court house, dressed up for the occasion in hot, tight clothing that made him feel like he was suffocating, melting away under layers and layers of clothing. He felt like a fraud. After all, he was Spot Conlon now, rebel and leader of the Brooklyn newsies.

He wasn't Matthew Conlon; Jake Conlon's punching bag any more.

The only thing that made him feel any better was the waves of newsies that poured into the room, packing the seats, littering the floor. It didn't matter if they came from Queens, Manhattan, Brooklyn, or The Bronx, they were all sitting together, lending their silent, and sometimes not so silent, support.

Caroline sat to his left, her hands clasped in her lap. Her head was down, hair in curly ringlets around her face. She risked a glance in his direction, her eyes shadowed and haunted. He couldn't see the bruises underneath the high collar and flowing skirts, but he knew they were there. Once again, she had payed the price for helping her brother.

Jake was to his right, naturally his mother wasn't present, after all she didn't even think he existed, flanked on his left by the lawyer, a slimy git of a man who worked for whoever gave him the most money. The mere appearance of this man sent icy shivers down Spot's spine. He had no one to support him, no one to back him up. He was up against not only the adults, but a lawyer as well.

"All rise, court is now in session." The guard said, and the entire room stood to let the judge walk in. Spot glared at him the entire time he was on his feet, and then continued to do so even as he sat down. Out of all the luck, why did it have to be _this_ judge?

"Judge E. A. Monahan presiding."

The judge looked down at the table in front of him, raising a slight eyebrow as he caught sigh of Spot, recognizing him immediately. After all, hadn't the little street rat insulted him once already? He picked up his gavel and banged on the desk to get the attention of the room. Apparently, Spot wasn't the only one to recognize the 'honorable' judge.

He hung his head, refusing to raise it. What was the point? He was doomed, he knew it. Just as he knew the lawyer was saying something, just as he knew there were voices all around him. He just couldn't listen, couldn't concentrate, couldn't single them out among the torrent that was his mind.

In fact, the only time he looked up was a few minutes after the start, when the doors to the courtroom slammed opened. A young man stood there, framed in the doorway. He smiled a little and the newsies whistled, a few of them crying, "Ace! Glad ya made it!" and other such nonsense.

And then Ace swung open the other door and everything got so quiet you could probably hear a pin drop. All the newsies were struck silent, eyes riveted on what they saw standing there.

"Who're you?" The judge barked, tired of the interruptions.

"Collin Russiani, your honor. I am Matthew Conlon's current guardian."

Spinning in his seat, and dislodging his father's hand from his shoulder, Spot's eyes literally lit up from the inside, the fire sparking back to life with a vengeance. "Red!"

Red smiled at him, dressed up in Ace's black suit, his hair, not only cut, but combed and slicked back nicely, leaving a few tendrils to fall over his eyes. "How ya doin' kid?" He asked as he came forward, the crowd of newsies parting for him like the red sea did for Moses, closing up behind him in utter silence.

He laid his briefcase on the table next to Spot, and bent down to whisper something to Caroline. She immediately got up and moved to a chair to the other side of the Conlon lawyer, relinquishing her seat to the Brooklynite, who sat down, hands folded neatly in front of him.

"Well." He raised an eyebrow at the judge, "You may start now, your honor."

Monahan's eyebrow twitched and he leaned forward a bit in his chair, "What do you mean, you are his current guardian, Mr. Russiani?"

Red smiled politely, "Well, your honor, to be frank, I believe that would mean I am his father."

"Now wait here just a second!" Jake Conlon bellowed, standing up from his seat, fists clenched. "I am his father!"

Spot coughed, looking up at the judge. "Sir, if I may?"

The elder nodded at him, because he was pretty sure the child was going to say what was on his mind, wither he had permission or no. "What is it, Mister Conlon?"

The newsie bristled a bit, never having liked that name, but he got over it and said, in a voice never betraying his nervousness, "Sir...Re- Collin...has been more of a father to me than Jake Conlon ever has. Which is why I will say what I must. " He risked a glance at the enraged Jake, mostly to be sure he didn't attempt to leap across the table and throttle him. "Jake Conlon may be my blood- father, but in my mind, heart, and soul, there is only one man whom is worthy of the title father, and dat is Collin Russiani."

He was correct in assuming Jake would try something. No sooner did he get the words out did the man try and grab him, his eyes narrowed and raging. He managed to get half a hand around Spot's upper arm, but Red was there and the grip didn't stay on long.

"ORDER!" Monahan cried, even as the guards shot forward to make the adult take his seat, "Order in this court!" When he had it, he raked a sharp eye over Red, looking at him from every angle. He seemed satisfied by what he saw.

"All right, all right." He sighed, "Mr. Fuchs, if you would." He nodded to the Conlon lawyer, who got to his feet and stood in the front of the room, his slicked back hair greasy and shining as his eyes looked around the room slyly.

"Good name for him." Red murmurred, "Fuchs means fox in German." He explained to Spot out of the corner of his mouth, "Sly and cunning. See the way he's looking around? If there was ever a man who would fit such a name, it would be him."

Spot nodded in agreement, but his heart was thumping painfully. He knew what this man was going to say before he even opened his foreign mouth and began to speak. He knew his temper would be called into play, his reputation surely. And so it was. Mr. Fox must have spoken for a good thirty minutes before he paused and gave a slight nod to the judge, who was looking at Spot with startled eyes. There was a question there, on the tip of his tongue. One that desperately needed answering, if only for his curiosity.

"You...Mister Conlon...you did all that?"

What was the use in denying it?

"Yes, your honor." Spot saw Red give him a proud smile and he straightened up in his seat, voice a little stronger, a little more forceful. "Yes sir, I did do all those things." He looked around him at the newsies, "But if I hadn't...those kids back there would have been in trouble."

Monahan drew back just slightly as those burning silver-blue eyes turned back to him, a soft smirk on the youth's face. "You see, your honor, no one is allowed to mess with my bois...

except foah me."

The newsies cheered, stomping their feet and hollering as the judge tried to swallow all the information he had been given. Finally he banged his gavel and called for silence. When he had it, he nodded at Red.

"Well, sir, before you have your own turn, do you have anything to say in regard to what was just said?"

Red nodded, choosing to lean forward in his chair instead of getting to his feet. "Yes, your honor, I believe I do. In regard to the claim that my son," Jake bristled at that, "ran away, is completely and utterly irrelevant."

"And how is that?" Monahan blinked.

"Well you see, the law clearly states that a child who is or was ever mistreated as much as Matthew C. Conlon was by his parents, he or she has the right to leave." Red said calmly, fingers steepled in front of him.

"What law is that!" The judge nearly snapped.

"The law of Brooklyn, your honor."

The entire audience busted up laughing, and this time nothing would cease their mirth. It was just too priceless, the look on the judges face, the look of smugness on Red's. Most of them could remember quite clearly when Spot had said nearly the same thing to E. A. Monahan only a few years earlier, during the strike, and those who didn't know of it were quickly being told.

_"Hey, your honor? I object!" _

_"On what grounds?" _

_"On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor." _

Spot, tears of joy in his eyes, turned to fling his arms around Red, laughing so hard his stomach was hurting, his still injured rib aching from the pressure. But he didn't care, because they had a chance.

Finally, _he _had a chance.

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Aww that's cute. And I thought I should leave it here because im leaving to go on vacation the 8th and you would rather like to end on a happy note then a cliffy, right? Or would you rather get the next chapter and the cliffy?

Up to you! -smile-


	14. We call

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Fourteen: We call...

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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"You may say your piece, Mister Russiani." The judge said, a tone to his voice saying he would rather hang upside down over a pit of man eating slugs than let the young man have the floor. But he had to, it was the law. And he upheld it, even if he didnt always agree.

Red gave Spot a small smile as he got to his feet, "Sir, if I may approach?" He came around the desk, stripping off his ebony jacket and laying it on the table top as he did so, leaving him in a white shirt and a black vest.

"You may." The judge looked slightly interested when Red didnt stop in front of him, but came around to the side.

"I apologize in advance for this, your honor."

"For wha-" The judge was cut off as his head snapped around, jerking in his seat from the force of the other's fist. There was a clatter as the guards on either door sprung forward to restrain Red, grabbing him around the waist and the arms.

Spot had jumped to his feet, eyes the size of dinner plates as he seriously considered whether or not the elder had lost his mind somehow. Red backed up, placid and quiet in the guards hands as he said calmly, "Your honor, I apologize. There was nothing personal in that, I assure you."

The judge waved the guards off and touched his slightly hurting jaw. "Then what was the purpose of this?" He demanded. "I fail to see the point!"

"You are a man and you feel the pain of a blow without any emotion behind it." Red moved back to the middle of the floor, where he was supposed to be, "Now put yourself in the shoes of a young child who was hit like that, but with the emotion of hate behind it, and the intention to harm." He looked down at his slightly red knuckles and added, "Not to mention, the blows were considerably harder, sometimes accompanied with other instruments. A belt, for instance, or a whip."

Spot sat back down, his eyes still slightly wide as he listened to the other. He had never seen Red like this before, he was focused, determined. Not only did it make him feel safer, it made him feel like he actually had a chance of getting out of this scotch free. He understood his reputation, and everything he had built, was on the line, but he hardly cared anymore.

He just didn't want to go.

"Not only did Matthew Conlon have to deal with that, he had to deal with a pair of alcoholic parents who not only forced him out of his house, but did it with a smile on their faces. Mrs. Rebecca Conlon has even forgotten she had ever born a son. She is convinced her second child, another girl, died in childbirth. She is mentally unstable, showing clear signs of being abused. It has also come to my attention Caroline Conlon, who sits just there, has also been abused by the father. Is that a household you would want your own children, who are around Matt's own age, to live in?"

"Be that as it may, there are no records of such..." The judge looked away from Red's eyes, those burning green eyes that seemed to pin him to his chair, seemed to stare straight through him to the other side. Both of them had those eyes. Spot Conlon's were just a different color.

"There are records." Red snapped open his briefcase, pulling out some paper. "I have records written and signed by the doctor who saw to Matt, on_ several _occasions, that would be when he managed to get to the doctor's office, and..." He looked sideways at Spot, asking him silent permission to add the last puzzle piece to the mix.

Spot nodded, giving it all up to the other then. He knew they couldn't call anyone to the stand, cause that would just take him or her down as well. So they had found another way. But if he failed, even using this last resort...

"Mr. Russiani?" Monahan prompted, unaware of the private conversation they were having. "You were saying?"

Red reached in the briefcase slowly and pulled out a stack of Polaroids. "I have pictures, your honor."

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Monahan had to take a few deep breaths as he ran through the pictures. Even in black and white, they were horrific to behold. It was hard to believe that the young child in these pictures...literally torn apart and bared to the world...was the same strong willed one he saw sitting in his courthouse.

He paused on the last one, the last in the stack and the latest to be taken. It was recent, that was clear to see just by the sheer sharpness of the details. He cleared his throat, taking a sip from a glass of water one of the guards had fetched for him.

"Mister Conlon..." He started, "Please, I need to..."

Spot looked at him in confusion for a moment before realization dawned and he got to his feet, coming around the table to stand next to Red, slipping out of his heavy jacket and laying it over a chair. A gasp ran through the audience as he began to unbutton his shirt, letting it gape open. He looked up at Red one last time before he let it fall from his shoulders and down to his elbows, baring his back to the room.

That gasp turned into a scream.

The newsies were on their feet, cursing at Jake in every language known to man, some of them nearly making it close enough to try and take a swing or two at his head. The most violent and loud of the group, of course, were his own boys, the Brooklyn newsies.

They knew something had been wrong, they knew he had been abused. But never, in their wildest imaginations, could they dream something like _this_ had happened to their beloved leader. Their blood ran through their veins like fire, burning and raging. Docks nearly leapt over the railing to get at Jake, but Shorty reached out and snagged him back.

But that was only so he could try.

"ENOUGH!" Monahan screeched, not quite having seen himself what all the commotion was about. "I SAID ENOUGH!" But, through all his screaming, they were not listening.

"Bois."

At Spot's soft voice, they all fell silent, so quickly the air around was ringing in their ears. How one word from this...shrimp, could halt such a ruckus, Monahan never got to ask, because at that moment, Spot turned to show him his back, and he forgot how to do anything but stare.

It was worse than the pictures, much worse...and this was when it had time to heal. The scars, both old and new, ran all across his pale skin. Whip scars, belt scars, knife scars, they were all there, and clearly distinguishable. He could literally see where the metal of the belt had pierced the kid's skin, and he had to turn away.

"Put...put your shirt back on..." He managed to rasp. "Please."

Spot did as he was told, not looking up until Red placed a hand on his shoulder gently in comfort. He gave him a small nod and a push back towards his seat, but not before he whispered a soft, "Im proud of ya, kid, real proud." and slipped something into his hand.

Monahan regained his composure and coughed a little, "I...Mr. Fuchs, do you have anything further to say?" He nodded at Red to retake his seat, and he did so, closing the briefcase.

The lawyer got to his feet, only slightly shaken by what he had seen. "Yes, in fact, we have one witness to call up, since she has been so unwillingly pulled into this."

Spot's hands clenched into fists so hard something sharp bit at his palm. He blinked, opening his hand, slightly remembering Red had given him something. But he had been a little preoccupied at that moment.

He unfurled his fingers and let the light reflect off of a silver key even as the lawyer smiled, not unlike his namesake, and said, "We call Caroline Conlon to the stand."

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heheheheeeee...here we go! Can Red and Spot get out of this one? Guess you'll gonna have to find out later... -giggle-


	15. The Verdict

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Fifteen: The verdict

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Spot could only stare as Caroline walked up to stand next to the lawyer. All he could think about was the way her shoulder's slumped forward, her hands shaking ever so slightly. They were all bad signs, but the worst of them all...?

She never once looked back at him.

"Miss Conlon." The judge nodded politely at her, "How are you this morning?"

"I..I'm content, your honor." She said, trembling. "I cannot complain."

Spot's heart fell. She wasn't going to tell them the truth, she wasn't going to protect him any longer. But could he truly blame her? No, he could not. Family they may be, but he couldn't fault her for looking after herself.

"Mr. Fuchs." Monahan prompted, "You may start."

The German smiled as he slid his hands into his pockets, completely at ease. "Miss Conlon, please, tell us. Has your father ever hit your mother?"

"No sir."

Red looked over at Spot, concerned as the latter seemed to fold in upon himself, clutching at the key so hard blood was dribbling down his arm. He reached over and placed his fingers around the other's wrist, even as the lawyer asked his next question.

"Has your father ever hit you?"

A slight pause. "No sir."

Jake was looking pretty happy just about now. He leaned back and grinned at his daughter with pride. He had it in the bag now, all she needed to do was stay with the 'no sir' and they were set. He knew her last night of training would do her some good. No more of those rebellious stages, not in his children.

"Has your father ever hit your brother?"

Spot flinched, head bowed as his breath came a little fast. He was so tense he almost missed her response. Almost.

"Yes sir."

His head flew up, eyes snapping open. When had he closed them? He stared, openmouthed at his sister, praying he had heard right. Has she just stuck up for him? _Again?_ But how could that be?

Mr. Fuchs frowned, "Excuse me? Perhaps you didn't understand me. I asked if your father has ever hit your brother."

"And I said yes." She snapped, eyes flashing. "Perhaps you didn't understand _me_, sir. I believe I was speaking English, but if you wish for me to translate it into something you understand, my answer is _Ja_." (Yes)

The newsies laughed and the tension eased from Spot's shoulders, giving him the courage to risk a glance in his father's direction. He was still in the too shocked to do anything stage, but it was clear in his eyes that Caroline would not get out of this one unscathed.

And it was clear in HER eyes, that she didn't give a darn.

After all, she was Spot Conlon's sister.

Monahan ran a hand through his hair, eyes roaming from the daughter to the son and then back to the father. What a mess this was, a mess indeed. He picked up his gavel and sighed, banging it a few times.

"All rise." The guard called as the judge stood to take his leave. "Court will be in recess. We shall reassemble in an hour to hear the verdict."

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Spot nearly fell into a chair just outside the courthouse, burying his head in his hands. He wasn't crying, but his nerves were shot all to heck and back. Too much had happened lately, too much for him to take in. He felt arms wrap around his shoulders, and he knew from the touch that the person behind him wasn't Red, but the next second he knew the person behind him was nearly the same height and relaxed.

"Heya, Race." He whispered, letting his hands fall as he turned his head to look at the other.

Race looked horrible, there were dark shadows under his eyes, and he was sporting a fading bruise on the bottom of his face, above his jaw line. It looked like someone had slugged the heck out of him. Spot was about to ask what had happened, but it was then the rest of the newsies found him, and he was swamped with bodies.

"Spot!"

"Spot, man! I cant believe he did that to you!"

"Want me to kill em?"

"Yeah! Just say the word!"

"That's right! Brooklyn sticks together!"

"We gotta stick together!"

Feeling not unlike a bird in a cage, Spot pushed at the newsies surrounding him, vainly trying to get some air, some room between them. It was stifling, suffocating. Every time he opened his mouth to order them to go away, someone yelled over him.

He was just about to kill them all and be done with it, when a voice rose over it all, snapping like a whip through the chaos. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as the crowd dispersed and he could think again.

"Come on, give him some room. What do you wanna do? Kill him?" Red asked with a raised eyebrow as he came through the newsies, Ace at his side. "How ya doin, kid? Holding up all right?"

Spot raised his eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. "Where the _heck _did you get those clothes?" Truthfully, he thought Red kind of looked like an adult, but that wasn't something he really wanted to think about, much less say.

"Ace let me borrow em." Red sighed, collapsing in a chair, running a hand through his hair. "God, I don't know what im doin. Im no lawyer."

"Ya doin a good job to me." Race said from behind Spot. But it was the way he said it that made the younger take notice. Spot cleared his throat loudly, his fingers clenching the key of Brooklyn, somehow knowing what he was about to hear would not be good.

"I want answers. Now."

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They were called back in precisely an hour, taking their seats without much preamble. Spot was in a state of suspended shock, his mind trying to wrap itself about the sheer sacrifices his friends had made for him.

What the HECK had he done to deserve it?

Monahan was called in and everyone rose, waiting, as was proper, until the other took his seat. However, once he had, he stayed in his seat and shuffled the papers, never saying a word. He looked like he was waiting for something.

After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle or whisper, Red ventured a soft, "Your honor? Are you all right?"

"Yes...yes...the verdict..."

The judge cast a look around the courtroom, sighing a little as he picked up his gavel. "I hereby announce that Matthew Christopher Conlon is to be under the custody of his parents until his twenty-first birthday, signed and witnessed today, this day of-"

Anything else he had to say was drowned out by the voices of every newsie in the room, but it was Red who leapt forward, "YOU CANT DO THIS!"

The two guards sprung forward, grabbing the youth and trying to forcibly restrain him even as he tried to get at the judge, cursing him at the top of his lungs. Spot was sitting in his seat, unrestrained horror on his face, frozen in shock. There was no way...

"Take him OUT OF HERE!" The judge roared, motioning at Red, "Get him OUT OF HERE NOW!"

"YOU PIECE OF CRAP!" Red decked one of the guards and leapt forward, "ILL KILL YOU! YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR BACK BECAUSE IM GONNA KILL YOU!"

"GUARDS!"

It took everyone of the guards in the courtroom to restrain Red, pulling him off toward the door which lead to the jail. His hair flying around his enraged eyes, the co-leader of Brooklyn let his last words be known as they echoed through the room.

"YOU'RE GOING TO PAY! YOU'RE GOING TO SO PAY FOR THIS!"

And through it all, Spot hadn't moved a muscle, unable to even make a sound or tear his eyes away from the table top. It was over. After everything, they had lost.

And he...He was leaving New York.

Forever.

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heheheheeeeeeee. -grin- betcha werent expecting that. now review and tell me whatcha think! -snicker-


	16. We’re coming for ya

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Fifteen: We're coming for ya

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Needless to say, the courtroom exploded into utter pandemonium the very second they hauled Red off, as newsies shouted and sent out threats, demanding that the judge change his mind or face their wrath; that he rethink it all or face them in _their own court. _

Of course, they were all idle threats, most of them anyway, and Monahan knew it just as well as his guards did. They restrained those who actually tried to attack the judge, but they were laughing the whole time. After all, what harm could a bunch of kids do?

Spot didn't hear it, not a word. His mind was blissfully empty of everything...voices, thoughts, it was just calm and tranquil silence. He let everyone down. They were counting on him, so many people had been trusting him, and he had let them all down.

For a second he wished he had died in that warehouse in Queens, that he had let Karlof kill him. At least, that way, he wouldn't have made it to this point, wouldn't have ruined the lives of those he considered family.

Ace, for instance. Ace had lost the Bronx because of this. Because he had placed his trust in a shrimp, he had lost the land his very blood kin had protected since day one. He had lost all that made him who he was. How could he ever make that up to him?

He couldn't. There was no way, no way to make amends, no way to say anything, because at that moment, a hand clasped itself around his arm, jerking him to his feet with enough force to send him crashing head-first back into reality.

Jake hauled him forward, around the table and toward the door at the back of the courthouse, behind the judge's desk. Panic gripped his mind as he felt the rough edges of the key in his hand. He couldn't leave Brooklyn without a leader, that was the only thought running through his mind.

He could handle whatever his father wished to dish out, but his boys...They took priority over everything else. He jerked free, spinning on his heel, eyes searching through the mass of people, searching for one head in particular...

"RACE!" He screamed, voice a whip as he flung the key as hard as he could through the air, a mere heartbeat before Jake snagged him again. But his eyes followed its arc, followed its flight. Too high...he had thrown it too high...Race wouldn't be able to-

The Italian boy leapt across the gate, onto the table as his fingers snagged the object. He looked down at what was in his hand in astonishment, head snapping up, eyes wider than he had ever seen them, face snow white.

Their eyes met for a moment and Spot smiled at him sadly, "Take good care of them, Racetrack." He whispered, just as his father drug him into the fray, and their connection was lost, swallowed up by the confusion.

Race was stunned as he stared down at the silver key, glittering innocently in his palm. It didn't have a care in the world, he would bet it was even unaware of what it meant, what it represented. What it meant for him, to hold it, to be given it.

_"Take good care of them, Racetrack." _

Spot...He searched desperately for the youth, eyes finally spotting him being drug toward the door. Fire burned in his blood and he slid along the table, snagging Red's briefcase. Tugging it open he pulled out the cane, brandishing it with one hand.

"HEY!" He shouted, so loudly most stopped to look at him, standing so tall, eyes ablaze as he slipped the key around his neck. "JAKE CONLON! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING! BROOKLYN AINT DONE WITH YOU!"

A roar met his statement, as Docks and Shorty led the swarm of Brooklyn newsboys straight at the man that DARED to test their anger, many of them armed with only their fists. But they were still a fearful sight, after all, these were the newsies Spot himself had commanded.

Suddenly, the adults realized that maybe...just maybe...they had underestimated the kids.

Yet again.

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In less than an hour, the entire state of New York had heard the story, and its many variations, and anyone on the street could tell you what had happened, word for word and blow by blow. The bulls had been called in before any real damage could take place, of course, but that didn't mean damage hadn't been done _after. _

Word around town was that the bulls had seriously hurt a few of the rebels, hurt them real bad. A few from Manhattan, a boy from the Bronx...but nearly half of the Brooklyn boys had been dealt blows, more than a few, it would seem, on the new leader himself.

Young kids ran around spreading the news as fast as they could, but the story revolved by mouth. Yes, it was true. Spot Conlon had handed Brooklyn over to a fellow newsie. Race owned Brooklyn now, but something else circulated even faster than that.

The fact that the Bronx was now anyone's game piqued many an interest.

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"Race...Race...!"

The Italian moaned, his hand coming up to weakly brush whoever it was aside, to leave him be. It was quiet where he was, quiet and safe. He was fine, why did they feel the need to bother him!

"_RACE_!" This time, hands were shaking him, back and forth so hard his teeth chattered.

"Wha!" He groaned, his eyes cracking open. "Whaddya WANT!"

It was Docks. He sighed, sounding relieved. "We thought you'd neva wake up. We'se been callin you and callin you, but you wouldn't answer."

Race frowned, "What? What happened? What do you mean, never wake up?" He ran a hand through his hair and winced as his fingers brushed up against a large and highly sensitive bump on the side of his head.

_Oh._

"Don't you remember what happened?" Shorty cried, sounding slightly panicked.

"Hey, hey, fellas. I got this." A new voice said from behind, and Race turned to see a familiar and very wanted face as Jack knelt on the ground next to him, reaching out to take a look at his head. "Race, you okay?"

"What happened, Cowboy?" He shook free of the hands, voice snapping, "What happened!"

"Well, what do you remember?"

"I remember..." He frowned, rubbing at his eyes. "I remember goin after Jake. I almost got him, but the door..." He took a deep breath, struggling, "The door hit me as it swung closed. I stumbled...and the bulls..."

Jack laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, "You got hit pretty hard, Race. One of the officers wasn't paying much attention to what he was swinging at."

Race nodded as he took a look around for the first time. They were in an alley just across from the jail, most of the newsies sitting on boxes or perched on the fire escapes. He had been laying on the ground, head propped up by what looked like someone's jacket. It was still bright, so he couldn't have been out for all that long.

"What happened?" He asked, and this time he wasn't talking about himself. "Where's Ace? And Red?"

"Red is in there." Jack nodded toward the jail. "They are talking about charging him with something or another. Ace went in there about an hour ago, after the bulls broke up the fighting. He's gonna bail Red out, and then we're gonna go get Spot back."

Race could only gaze at the door to the jail, waiting for that flash of red hair, those sharp emerald eyes. Everyone knew that without Red, they would have no chance of rescuing Spot, none at all. Then another question hit him. One he wanted answered. "What do we do when we find Jake?"

There was a soft span of silence, utter stillness as everyone questioned themselves, pondered the question and rolled it around. Finally, after what seemed like forever, one asked, "Well, what do you want ta do when we find him?"

Race smirked, and it was a chilling smirk. "Well, I think im gonna rip him apart piece by piece, boys. What say you?" There was a startling amount of approval to that, and the poker player could only chuckle as he got to his feet, taking a few steps toward the street, his hand caressing the cane at his side.

_"Take good care of them, Racetrack." _

"Worry about your own self, Conlon." He whispered, turning his face to the warm sunlight, letting it wash over him in droves. "And be ready...cause we're comin for ya."

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-grin- Race is the new Brooklyn leader. Betcha most of ya didnt see that coming. Hehe. Since Race was actually, I found out this after I came up with his past, historically, a Brooklyn newsie, I thought why not. Sides, it all fits together later on. -giggle-

so leave me a review if ya readin...I seem to have lost a few reviewers and that makes me sad. So, lemme know whatcha think and how you feel, and ill get the next chapter out as soon as I can.


	17. The answer to it all

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Seventeen: The answer to it all

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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It was lonely in the cell, so very, very, lonely. He sat curled up in the corner, on top of the small cot, staring straight ahead at the dark, damp wall, that he was pretty sure, looked exactly like the dark, damp wall _behind _him.

He felt another round of hot tears streak down his face and he let them fall. He knew that if he wiped them away, only more would take their place. He also knew he was ruining his 'no crying' policy, but he hardly cared about that anymore.

All he cared about was Spot.

And the way his eyes had shattered at the verdict, shattered into millions of tiny, glittering pieces, scattering so far, it would be impossible to put them back together again. He had looked so lost, so utterly horrified...so much like the young child he had once been...

That Red had completely lost it. He had vowed once to NEVER see that look on his face again, and when he had, there was no more holding back. He winced in pain as he moved his arm, feeling the bones scrape against each other.

He hadn't been holding back so much, in fact, the guards that drug him out of there had no choice but to do the same. His shoulder was dislocated, his vision was so bad he could hardly see, and there was a constant ringing in his ears.

Along with voices.

Voices from everywhere, past and present, here and there. He picked out Spot and Race easy, along with the rest of Brooklyn and Manhattan alike. He didn't know how long he sat there, just listening to his life, but suddenly, his mind slipped back into a memory on its own.

A memory he could very well have done without.

_Red sat in the middle of his small room, actually it was just a bit bigger than a closet, trying to tie a bandage around his upper thigh, where a somewhat shallow cut bled out on the carpet. Using his teeth to hold the end of the material, he quickly but tightly wound it around and then tied it off. _

_Looking down at his handiwork, he suppressed a satisfied grin, which quickly faded as a crash made itself known from the kitchen. He winced just a bit as his mother's voice rose in volume, and a split second later, his father's joined hers. _

_Great, they were having another fight. _

_Getting up from the floor, he tossed his bloody pants into the corner and pulled on his only other pair, which, not surprisingly, also supported a tear on the leg, which had come from yet another run in with the gangs around Brooklyn._

_His stomach rumbled then, so loudly he was afraid Manhattan could hear it. Crossing his arms over his now aching stomach, he looked around, hoping there was something, anything to eat. Maybe he had overlooked something this morning. _

_Getting on his hands and knees, he pried up a floorboard, and his face fell. Nope. His secret stash was gone, the hidden spot bare again. Now what was he supposed to do? He had already tried to get something to eat, which explained the wound on his leg, and, judging by what he could hear, his parents didn't have anything either. _

_Not that they would share it with him if they had. _

_Shrugging his thin shoulders, he grabbed a small pocketknife, which hadn't helped much earlier, and stuck it in the top of his boot as he pulled it on. Opening his door he slipped out into the hallway and walked right past his parents, who didn't even notice him. _

_"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! HOW DARE YOU!" _

_"HOW DARE I! HOW DARE YOU!"_

_Red breathed a small sigh of relief as he slid outside and into the, somewhat less noisy, street. Hands in his pockets he strolled along the market place, sharp eyes looking out for just the right moment, for when a shopkeeper would look away..._

_Aha. _

_Reaching out quickly, Red was able to slide an apple into his hand before ducking back into the crowd, a smirk on his face. See, he could do this. Living on the street wasn't that hard-_

_A hand grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into an alley, too fast for him to even make a sound. He spun, snarling, smacking the hand that held him away. "Get off me!" _

_The person who stood there was tall, with auburn hair and an evil grin on his face. He was also the one who had given Red the nice cut. "Why hello short-stuff. Wasn't spectin ya to be heah again. Got a death wish?" _

_After a brief moment of panic, Red's eyes narrowed, "What does it mattah to you? Not like ya gonna be able ta back your big mouth up wit action!" _

_He had a split second after that to make a choice. To run or stand and fight, with his itty bitty pocket knife. He chose to stay and fight, and that decision would stay with him for the rest of his life. _

_"WHY YOU LITTLE!"_

_Ducking the first blow, Red spun on his heel, hand moving to his boot top as the other turned around and came at him again. But he didn't get two steps before a foot came out of no where, dropping him like a fly. _

_Red blinked up in shock as someone leapt from a fire escape, landing on the ground. "Heya, kid. Seems ya needed a bit of help heah. De name's Checker." He held out his hand. _

_The other blinked for about a second, but then took it. "...Collin.." _

_"Collin? What are ya, a house kid?" Checker laughed, ruffling his hair, "Naw, dat aint ya name. Ya name...ya name's Red!" _

_"Red?" He blinked, but then grinned. "Red." He liked it. _

_"Yeah, so Red...We could really use ya spunk ovah with me and the rest of the newsies, how bout it?" _

_The kid's mouth fell open, and he could hardly suppress his joy. Being a newsie wasn't much, but it was certainly more than he had now. He nodded, unable to get the words out. "I..I just have ta get some stuff..." _

_Checker nodded, expecting this. "Hurry up, Red, I'll be waitin for ya." _

_Red ran all the way home, bursting into the door and into his room. He threw what little he owned onto a blanket and tied it together, to act as a bag. He had made it halfway out the door before he realized something very...odd._

_It was quiet. _

_Backtracking, Red went into his parent's room, and stopped cold. Eyes wide, he licked his dry lips, mind numb. His parent's bodies lay on the floor, knives in each of their slack hands. They had killed each other while he had been gone. _

Red hadn't been able to cry then, but now...Tears flew hard and fast for his parents. As unsuited as they had been to _be_ parents, they were the only ones he had had. He had once asked himself why it was he had rescued Spot that night, so long, long ago.

But really, the answer to that was simple.

He had seen himself in Matthew Conlon.

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Ace walked down the prison, his steps loud in the silence. He trailed just behind a cop, who held the keys in his fist. It had taken a lot of maneuvering, and a LOT of intimidating on his part, sometimes it paid to be higher born than most newsies, but he had _finally_ convinced them to release Red.

Now, all that was left to do, was rescue Spot before he could leave. The only problem to that, was no one had any clue as to go about doing that. The verdict had been pretty clear, undeniably so. Spot was henceforth ordered to be under the custody of his parents...

A look of growing shock spread over his face and his eyes lit up from inside. Rushing past the guard, he slammed to a stop outside Red's cell, practically shaking the bars out of their moldings.

He had it. He had the answer to it all.

"RED!"

Red jumped, eyes shooting to the side. "What are you...Ace?" He got up and walked over, brushing his face with his sleeve. "What's goin on?"

"Im gettin ya outta here!" He cried, voice going a mile-a-minute. "I've got them to get the keys, but, oh GOD, Red!"

"What? What!" Red yelled at him, eyes widening. A thousand bad thoughts ran through his head then, almost all of them involving Spot in one way or another. "What HAPPENED!"

Ace beamed at him, breathless, "I know how you can get Spot back!"

Okay...he hadn't expected that.

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YAY! they have an idea! -claps- now use that little button and REVIEW! -mad laugh-


	18. Don’t make me

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Eighteen: Don't make me

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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"Hey, Race..." Mush gently tapped the newsie on the shoulder, "Maybe you should go home, get some sleep..."

He got a glare worthy of Spot Conlon himself shot at him.

He held up his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. "Sorry, sorry. I was just sayin...You look like you could use the rest."

Honestly, the other was right. Race could hardly keep his eyes open, much less be able to get up and leave when Ace FINALLY got Red out of that hell-hole, or, in other words, the jail. It was already nearing night, and still no sign of either one of them.

But since he wasn't going to admit he was ready to drop, all he said was, "Im fine, Mush." which sounded pathetic to even his ears, but hey.

"Okay." Mush let it go, which was pretty funny, and Race would, indeed have a nice laugh over that, but not at that particular moment, because at that moment, Ace and Red finally came out of the doors, and finally started toward them.

The newsies that had stayed and waited, got their feet and stretched, each of them looking on in silence as Red stood before them, his eyes bright. "Heya bois." He greeted with a barely contained grin, "Guess what we're gonna do?"

"What?" Docks asked with a raised eyebrow.

"We're gonna go do some research, wont dat be fun?" Red smirked, raising his hand to stop the onslaught of groaning that came with that sentence. "And then we're gonna go rescue our dear little Spot. How does _that_ sound?"

_That_ sounded perfect.

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The soft morning light flitted in through the blinds, casting a yellow haze over the two newsies asleep at the table, their heads laying on the night's work. Red had one arm thrown over his face, cheek pressed to the cool table top, whereas Ace still clutched a pen in his hand, a scribbled sheet of paper in front of him.

They had stayed up nearly all night, going over Ace's brilliant idea, going over it and over it, looking at the legal matters, at every angle they could think of. Nothing could go wrong, because they might never get another chance.

Ever.

Suddenly, the door slammed open so hard it bounced back against the wall, and nearly shut itself again, if someone hadn't dived through it, nearly screeching at the top of their lungs.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOIN!"

"Whuzza...!" Red yelped as someone grabbed the legs of his chair and jerked them outward, dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. "What the HECK!"

Ace, having woken up at the first shout, jumped to his feet, a red-imprint on the side of his face from where the paper had pressed into his skin. "What's...Shorty?"

"WHAT THE HECK ARE YOUSE TWO'S MALFUNCTIONS!" Shorty screamed in anger, smacking both of them in the back of the head. "LOOK WHAT TIME IT IS!"

Red's face paled as he spun on his heel. "Oh god...!" He rushed past the other, Ace hot on his heels. Both were cursing in fluent Italian as they hopped into their boots and scrambled down the stairs.

Shorty watched them go with his arms crossed. WHAT had they been THINKING! By this rate, the only way they were going to reach the station in time, would be with the help of a miracle.

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Spot sat on the train, plastered to the window, his eyes searching for that familiar flash of red hair, that goofy grin, anything at all that would let him know he was out there.

There were newsies, that was for sure, all over the platform, in various stages of shock. They still couldn't believe this was happening. But it was, and so, the New York newsies had lined up to pay homage to the leader of Brooklyn.

But none of them were...

"Spot!"

He straightened at once, sticking his head out the window, "RED!" He cried, voice strangled. "RED!"

There he was, running toward the train, his shirt half-way buttoned, flying out behind him as he got closer and closer...But then the train started and Spot could have cried in frustration. He COULDN'T leave! He just COULDN'T! "RED!"

Slowly the train began to move, but he was so close, and then... "NO!" Spot screamed, sticking his hand out the window, "NO! DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE!" He was whining, but who cares? He was watching his life fade...

"Shut up!" His father growled, trying to pull him from the window, but the boy was like a leech, and wouldn't let go. He clung to the glass, barely budging.

Red skidded to a stop at the edge of the platform, "I'LL COME AND GET YOU, SPOT!" He called, his voice booming. "I'LL COME AND GET YOU, DON'T YOU WORRY!"

That was the last thing Spot heard as the train left his home, his friends, and all he had ever known behind. As he left New York behind.

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Ace managed to catch up to Red a few minutes after the train had left the station, and already faded from view, but the minute he got to his side- and took a MUCH needed breath- Red strode and bolted back the other way!

"WHERE are you going!" The Bronx leader cried, eyes wide. "You cant seriously be thinking of..."

"You're asking me such a dumb question?" Red shot back as he shot off down the road, his eyes immediately picking out a certain poker player from the crowds. "RACETRACK HIGGINS!"

Race jumped, spinning on his heel. "Red? What-" He was cut off as the elder grabbed his shoulders and gave him a sharp shake. "Tell me you have more of that dye. Tell me you do!"

Race blinked, "Uh..yeah, lots. But Red, what are you..."

When he didn't answer, he looked over at the panting Ace, who could only shrug his shoulders, a lost look on his face. He had no idea either. Maybe Red had finally snapped. Wouldn't have been that surprising, all things considered.

It seemed an eternity later, but Red turned around and looked back at the station, eyes hard. "Ya wanna know what im doin? Im gettin ready ta go get my son back."

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"Is he sure about this, Jack?" David asked, barely able to hide the worry in his voice as they watched Red pack for the trip he was going to be making.

"I dunno, why don't you ask him?" Cowboy snapped, tired of hearing that. He heard it from Mush, from Specs, from Skittery, from darn near EVERYONE. _He_ _didn't know! _

"Cause he doesn't answer anyone when they talk to him?" He shot back, "I mean, I understand what he's doing, I really do, but..."

"Shuddup Dave." Jack growled, "Just shuddup and let him do what he wants. Red's an adult, he can take care of himself. You don't need to lead him around by the hand. Let. It. Go."

David's mouth snapped shut and he looked down at the floor as Red finished and slung his bag over his shoulder. His green eyes were oddly subdued, as if he was thinking, and as he walked out the door, he didn't even say bye to them.

But, as Jack turned to see him off, he couldn't help but see David's point.

Red was leaving nothing to chance, and especially not leaving it up to the bulls of this place. He wasn't going to give them the chance to take him back before he could go help Spot. Which was why...

Which was why...Red's once shocking crimson hair, had been dyed a dark, and reflecting ebony.

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I just got so much reviewing last chapter that I had to put the next one up pronto. You guys make me so happy, and I jump for joy every time I see a review in my email, just waiting for me to open it and hear what you guys think. So thank you...thank you for 69 reviews. Thats more then I've ever had, and it nearly makes me cry to think you all like this so much.

So, thank you and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Drop me a review. -grin-


	19. Just bring ‘im back

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Nineteen: Just bring 'im back

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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_"You don't understand, Spot! You've NEVER understood me!" The kid stomped his foot for good emphasis, angered beyond words. _

_"What's dere to understand? You're a child, not an adult." Spot raised his eyebrows as he looked down at the other, who barely came to his waist- which was really short, come to think of it. _

_"I am not a child!" _

_The leader rolled his eyes, he had heard this before. Many, many times. "Yeah? Then_

_prove me wrong." _

_"Maybe I will."_

_Spot sneered, "Oh yes, do dat." _

"Docks!"

With a jolt, Docks jerked to attention, rubbing his face as he blinked bleary eyes up at the unidentifiable Manhattan newsie who stood over him. "Whaddya want?"

"You told me ta tell you when Red was leavin..." The kid scuffed his shoe a little, "Well, sir, he's leavin."

_'Gee thanks, kid, like I couldn't have figured dat out on my own.' _

"Kay." Docks swung his legs over the side of the bed, and raised an eyebrow when he realized the little idiot was still standing there. "You..can go now."

The kid ran off as fast as his legs could carry him, which only had the brooklynite laughing at his expense. Honestly, you would think some people thought that Brooklyn was hell or something, by the way they acted around them.

Reaching out he grabbed his hat and slung it onto his head as he bounded down the steps, jumping the last few. He didn't even pause as he turned the corner and grabbed the person sitting down in the chair.

"Oi, brat. Time ta go!"

"OW!Leggo ya lame brained- Docks?" Shorty blinked wide eyes up at him as he was drug along, "What are you..."

All he had to say where five little words. "Red is on da move."

_"Yeah? Then prove me wrong." _

The only problem in all his bragging?

He never had proved Spot wrong.

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Race met with Red just outside the lodging house.

For a long while it was quiet, both of them just staring at each other. Race had his hat in his hands, his eyes slightly narrowed, mouth a thin line. Red's face was emotionless for the first few minutes, but then he sighed, and the wall crumbled between them.

"You cant come with me, Race."

"I know."

"You have ta take care of Brooklyn now."

"I know."

"I'd take you with me if I could."

"I know."

Red ran a hand through his hair, wasn't this awkward? "Thanks for the hair dye."

"You're welcome." Race hadn't moved from where he stood, and neither had Red. One of them was going to have to do _something. _Finally, the latter took a step forward, and then another.

"I guess...I better get going. I have to get on the train somehow, right?" He grinned, trying to play it off lightly, but Race's hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

"Ya sneakin on?"

"Most likely." He shook his arm free, and crossed them. "Why?"

"Unless you want to get thrown off in the middle of nowhere..." Race's hand flipped upward, and handed the elder a small stack of bills. "This will help a bit."

And he just walked away. No, pay me back when you get the chance, no you owe me. Nothing but 'This will help a bit.' Red stared down at the money in his hands and quickly counted it.

Fifty dollars.

Holy. Freaking. Crap.

"Race!" He spun, "I cant take dis!"

Forget not taking it. Where had Race GOTTEN it!

"You can and you will, Red." He turned and looked back at him with his eyebrow raised, "Cause you need ta go get Spot, and you need dat money ta do it." He frowned, and his face fell. "And since I cant be dere...That's the most I can do."

What was he supposed to say to that?

"Thank you."

The other snorted, "Don't thank me, Red." Hands in his pockets, he strode off, lifting a hand behind him in a farewell. "Just bring 'im back."

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He sat on the train, his head propped up by a hand, his eyes slightly unfocussed as he stared out the window, waiting for the train to start. It was an agonizing wait, mostly because he could only imagine what was happening to Spot in the hands of his father.

And nothing he could think up was good.

He wanted to leave now, to leave and return with Spot in tow. But, the Brooklynite knew it wasn't going to be that easy, and honestly, he hadn't been expecting it to be. But he could still hope, couldn't he?

"Uh, Sir?" A small and tentative voice cut through Red's thoughts and he turned to see a young woman with a small child clutched to her chest standing just in the aisle. "Sir, is this seat taken?"

"No, please..." Red moved his small bag and let the young lady sit next to him, the baby blinking wide blue-green eyes at him, gumming on his finger. "Are you traveling alone?" He asked in surprise, noticing no one else had followed her on.

She bowed her head, tendrils of soft caramel hair falling around her face. "Yes sir, just me and Micky." She indicated her offspring with a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Red." He corrected almost instantly, holding his hand out to her, "Please, call me Red."

She took it slowly, almost as if she was fearing a trick. She was cautious and wary- which was a good trait to have being a single mother. Which was obviously what she was. "Tiffany McLean."

"Nice to meet you." He gave her a smile, holding out a finger to the child, "And its nice to meet you, Micky."

Grabbing at his finger, Micky's tiny lips turned up into a grin, and he giggled. Unable to bear reclaiming his hand, the newsie turned his head to peer out at the street, looking for anyone he knew, when he saw it.

There, sitting in the window of a second hang pawn shop, laying up on a black velvet base, was a golden pocket watch. He stared, eyes widening even as the train's whistle blew. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

_Race jerked back, hand clutching the watch to his chest, laughing. "Oh no! I don't think so, bud!" He ran his fingertips over the gold lid. "This is too important ta me, ya know? Its all I have from my past... If I lose dis...den I'll start ta fuhget. And I wont ever do dat."_

Race...

_"Don't thank me, Red. Just bring 'im back."_

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Well well, another update. -cheers- go me! i felt this chapter was a little choppy, because i had writer's block when i first wrote it, so sorry if im not the only one who think's that. -- - hugs- i love you all though, and im happy everyone takes the time to read this and to tell me what they think. Next time i might have a surprise for you!

Ambrlupin


	20. Da new leadah

For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Twenty: Da new leadah

Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)

Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.

**I am using the character of Prince from a good friend of mine. So that means i dont own. I only use with express permission -grin- thank you.**

A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-

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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.

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Queens was torn. Under the care of good ol' Karlof, the once strong borough was now nothing but weak and tormented kids under the care of the gang Karlof had hand picked and put it charge.

The lodging house was a mess, any sales going straight into the leader's pocket. The newsies were starving and resorted to stealing to get either money or food. The result of that was that many of the honest Queen's kids were sent straight into the refuge, picked up off the streets by cops.

Most of them caught in the act.

The ones left had no choice but to follow Karlof, most of them branded by his hand. He owned them, you see. They were _his_ property. His and only his. No one had the guts to stand up to him or his gang.

When Spot killed Karlof, it wasn't the end of all their troubles. It was merely the start of some new ones. Without a leader, the gang fought over the newly opened position, kicking the other's around and damaging the city like never before.

Until one day, they had enough.

No one knew who threw the first punch, whether it be newsie or gang, but in seconds it had erupted into a massive fight, fists flying, blood splattering, an all out brawl for the sake and honor of a once proud borough.

Now it was simply a matter of who gave out first.

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And in Manhattan, it was a bleaker then usual day.

The rain had started sometime during the early morning hours, and hadn't slowed down at all as the day progressed. The streets were flooded, and not even newsies -were there any one to sell to - would travel around at this part in the game.

Thus it had become a free day, in which most of the newsies either relaxed or partook in one of the many gambling games going on around in the common room. There wasn't really anything else to do, unless you wanted to head off in the rain.

Not many were planning on doing _that_ anytime soon, however.

"Raise ya, Race." Blink tapped his fingers on the table, eyebrow raised slightly as he looked over at his shorter partner. He wasn't sure why he had agreed to play poker, especially with Race, but he was here now.

Had to make the best of it.

"...Im out." Race muttered, throwing his cards down as he slid his chair back from the table. A hush spread across those at the table and the surrounding area, and Blink's already raised eyebrow shot to his hairline.

"Race? Are you-"

"Im fine." The gambler snapped, a bit harsher then he had intended to. "I just...don't feel like playin...thats all."

That might not seem a big deal to those who didn't know Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins, but to his friends, it was as if saying the apocalypse had come. David gently set his book down, marking his spot carefully.

"Something's bothering you, Race, why don't you just-"

The door opened and yet another newsie was cut off mid sentence. The wind blew harsh in the door, sending rain water scattering across the floor. It was someone small framed, huddling in a soaked jacket, and a damp and dripping newsie cap.

"Who're you?" Jack asked as he got to his feet, taking a few steps toward the newcomer.

Shutting the door behind them, green eyes peered at Jack from under the hat, and lips turned up into a half-smirk. "Me? Im da new leadah of Queens. Nice ta meet cha."

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_Blaize hit the ground hard, coughing. All around him, the Queens newsies were falling, trying and failing to keep back the bigger, stronger, tougher gang_ _Karlof had put together before he died. _

_Karlof. Even the mere mention of that man sent anger straight to his brain. Jerking hard on the leg of the man that had knocked him down, the British boy pulled himself to his feet even as his opponent fell with a yelp._

_Used. Abused. He had come to expect the harsh treatment Karlof dished out. But he would be bloody well darned if he received it after the other was gone. Shouting out encouragement to the others, he stumbled to his feet. _

_"I gotta do something.." He whispered to himself, staring around with calculating eyes. Scrambling across the ground, and past the fighting, he bounded up the stairs of the lodging house, busting through the door to Karlof's private room._

_It had to be here...It just HAD to be. Pulling clothes out of drawers, he tore up the room in search of what he hoped might end this fighting, once and for all. Sometimes...Drastic measures had to be taken. _

_Spying what he was after in the bottom of a drawer, he closed his hand around the cold metal of the revolver and lifted it. He could see his eyes reflected back at him, broken, shattered. His life had been torn to shreds...and all because of Karlof. _

_That more then anything gave him the courage to do what he had to do._

_Sliding back down the banister, he came out on the porch and searched, eyes finally picking out his target. The so called 'leader' of the gang. Taking a deep breath, he sighted down the barrel. He wouldn't even know what hit him...standing there, looking oh so cocky._

_A hand shot out suddenly, before he had even managed to put enough pressure on the trigger to fire, pushing the gun down. "No ya don't. Ya dun need a dead man on ya record." _

_Blaize turned, shocked, mouth open in a sort of snapped reply. But he didn't get to say anything, because the eyes that stared up at him from under the hat froze him solid. He had met Spot Conlon, once upon a time, and those same unyielding, unwavering, determined eyes were looking back at him._

_Except this time, they weren't silver-blue._

_They were green._

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Jack shut the door behind him, realizing that maybe some of his newsies would not appreciate the sudden meeting Ace and Jack wanted -behind closed doors - with this new...leader of Queens. Poking his head back out, he called Mush and David to the door, knowing they would keep the others from eavesdropping.

Ace gestured toward the chair. "If you came from Queens, you have to be tired...do you want something hot to drink?" He was aiming for civil, considering they hadn't a clue about this new leader.

Maybe he was all right and they had nothing to worry about.

Maybe.

"What do you want?" Jack asked, somewhat coldly. "If it's to apologize, you're wasting your time. I have no desire to make amends with anything that comes out of Queens."

"Jack!" Ace cried, shocked. Sure, Jack had a reason to be angry, but...He was a leader, and to make another leader angry was not good leadership skills. That could send them all into another war, and they didn't need that.

Not now. Not so soon.

But the other only chuckled. "I don't blame ya. Nuttin good has been comin outta Queens for a while now." He reached up and pulled off his hat, "But im not Karlof." The tone of the voice changed then, suddenly. Became less deep, more natural to the body frame.

"Da name's Prince."

Jack said the only thing that came to mind as he stared at the shoulder length brown hair that fell from the hat as soon as the new leader pulled it free. "You're a GIRL!"

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Guess what? Thats the END! -snorts- and im not joking. I decided to end this here, and start FB3 -sigh- yes, three, as soon as possible. Here's the summary:

**_Summary: While Red is off following Spot, the home front takes center stage as Queens enters into what could be its first civil war. With Brooklyn practically helpless and the Bronx totally undefended, can Manhattan help, or will old grudges get in the way? And will Red ever find Spot? (Sequel to FB and FB2)_**

But that doesn't mean you wont get heavy doses of your favorite characters!

whatcha think? Drop me a review and let me know!


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